Yale University Library

YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

MEMORIES

by JOHN F. JORDIN

Being A Story of Early Times in
Daviess County, Missouri,
and
Character Sketches of Some
of the Men Who Helped
to Develop Its Latent
Resources.

PUBLISHED FROM
THE NORTH MISSOURIAN PRESS
GALLATIN, MISSOURI.

Not for gain or fame have I written, but for the
pleasure it has given me to put into words the
thoughts that often filled my mind of the old familiar
places and the dear remembered faces of the long ago.
If there be any who care to read and share with
me the memories of the people and the places that I
loved, to them I dedicate this little book.
JOHN F. JORDIN.
October 12, 1904.

INTRODUCTORY.

' ' 'Tis beauteous night ; the stars look brightly down
Upon the earth, decked in her robes of snow.
No light gleams at the windows, save my own
Which gives it cheer to midnight and to me.
And now with noiseless step, sweet memory comes
And leads me gently through her twilight realms."
Seventy-five years ago the latent resources of Daviess
county lay slumbering in her noble forests and her virgin
soil. For untold years she had been waiting — waiting for the
touch of a magical hand — waiting for man with the golden
key of progress and civilization to unlock her wonderful treas
ure house and distribute her generous bounty to the world.
Waited while the trees of the forest grew old and hoary with
years, died, and others grew to take their place. Waited
while with each succeeding year spread her queenly prairie
with her vernal carpet of richest hue, all garlanded with
flowers and diamonded with dew. She had been touched by
the Red man, but not defaced. Her wealth and beauty were
reserved for the sons and daughters of a worthier race. But
in 1830 there transpired events which presaged a change. A
wonderful change ! The march of empire like a slow moving
but irresistible force was heard in the distance. Already the
vanguard had crossed the Father of Waters and gained a

firm foothold upon its western shores. The dawn of civiliza
tion was at hand, the gray ghosts of forgotton ages fled at
her approach. As early as 1826 faithful spies had traversed the Grand
River valley and had brought back glowing reports of a coun
try rich in natural resources. Here the forest abounded in
game, the streams with fish, the prairies were billowy seas of
succulent grass. Altogether the picture presented an ideal
scene, where the hardy pioneer could rear his cabin and
spend his days surrounded by peace and plenty.
It was early in the spring of 1830 that John Splawn and
his son, Mayberry, came from Ray county and built a cabin
near where the old Rock Island depot formerly stood. They
did not remain here long, but moved across the river and set
tled on the ridge that bears his name. It is a notable fact
that the early settlers reared their cabins in the forest, usual
ly near a bubbling spring. Here by cutting the smaller trees
and "deadening" the larger ones they were able to form a
"clearing" where, with little effort, they could raise sufficient
crops to supply their wants.
The men and women who stood as landmarks to fix the
western boundaries of civilization have passed away, bur their
descendants still live, and as the "witness trees" stand ever
ready to testify to the location of the long lost corner stone,
so should these living witnesses record their evidence for
the benefit of generations yet unborn.
Personally, I knew but few of the pioneers of Daviess
county. Many of them came before I was born, were old
when I was yet a child, and whatever impression was left up
on my mind by contact with them is such as would natural
ly be made upon the mind of an imaginative boy by the
stories of the dangers, toils and privations incident to pio
neer life.
A remarkable characteristic of these men was their indi
viduality. In the congested centers of civilization men con
form to some approved standard, there is a certain harmony

of thought and unity of action among them ; but the isolation
of the pioneer afforded him an opportunity to follow the bent
of his inclination and grow in whatever direction reason or
caprice might dictate. His development was not as symmet
rical as that of his more composite brother, but every line of
his rugged face bespoke character and proclaimed the individ
ual man. Constant exposure to the dangers of the wilderness de-
velope&iis-eoararge. Compelled to act upon his own judg
ment, he became self reliant . Often in need of help, he was
ever rea3y~to lend assistance to others. Feeling the need of
friendship he learned the value of a friend. With life and
property beyond the pale of legal protection he saw the neces
sity for individual honesty. Compelled to trust each other
without security, their honor became their bond — a bond so
sacred that they stood readyJLQ_r^e£niJt_ev^n_at_th^__sacrifiee
of life itself. Such were the characteristics, possessed in
some degree by the men of whom I propose to write.

^^5»=-?>"

MR. AND MRS. PLEASANT BLAKELY.

PLEASANT BLAKELY.
A long time ago away off in the mountains of Kentucky,
a baby boy was born, and all the gods smiled when they saw
the little child, for it was such a pleasing little fellow, and
smiled back at them m such a pleasant way that its parents
saw its name reflected in its face and so they gave him the
word for a name and he was ever afterwards called Pleasant
Blakely. The same year and in the same locality a little girl
came to the Girdner family and she was called Nancy. This
happened in 1808, nearly a century ago, and Pleasant Blake
ly and Nancy Girdner grew up together, fell in love in the
old fashioned way and in 1831 were married. Three years
later, having heard the report of faithful spies that far away
towards the setting sun there was "an exceeding good_land, a
land flowing with milk and honey," they resolved to go and
possess a part of it at least, and in 1834 they landed in what
is now Daviess county. They were not overburdened with
wealth. Their earthly possessions were transported upon the
back of an old gray mare and of filthy lucre they possessed
one shiny quarter. But the lack of money did not trouble
them. They had the courage that comes to those who have
good health, cheerful hearts and strong right arms and thus
equipped, they were ready for the battle of life. They halt
ed on a beautiful white oak ridge, east of Hurrican branch,
and looked about them. The soil was perhaps not of the best
quality, but here was wood and water, the two things indis-

pensable to the pioneer. The land could be cleared and sis
for the rest — well they would risk it Here they built them
a cabin — built it themselves and daubed it with mud, covered
it with clapboards, held in place by logs, and built a fireplace
with a stick chimney, cut out a couple of logs leaving a square
hole for a door, pur in a puncheon floor, and their little cabin
was complete, and not a nail in the whole structure
In this small and inconvenient cabin they lived while
land was being cleared, crops planted, and provision made
for the necessities of existence. A patch of corn for bread, a
small vegetable garden and wild game from the forest sup
plied their plentiful, but frugal fare. It was a slow and toil
some undertaking to carve a home out of the wilderness, but
pluck and perseverance finally won. A larger field was
cleared and fenced, a double log house erected and other
signs of prosperity began to appear around their home.
Through all the years of toil and privation Pleasant Blakely
retained the cheerfulness of his youth. Happy and care-free,
with the stature and strength of a man and the innocent
heart of a child, he whistled and sang as he worked, and at
night he would take down his fiddle and bow and forget the
toils of the day in the joy of drawing from its consonant
chords something of the music that was in his soul.
The country was filling up and when the new arrivals got
over the first worry of getting settled, they began to look
about them for some sort of social amusement, and here Aun
Nancy, with her utilitarian ideas and commercial instinct,
came into prominence. The people wanted to be amused and
what better amusement could be had than a good old fash
ioned dance, and if they wanted to dance, where could a bet
ter place be found than their new double log house — and
there was Pleasant to fiddle for them, too. So it was, Aunt
Nancy allowed it to be understood that their house was at the
disposal of the people, together with Pleasant' s services as
fiddler and a good supper — all for a reasonable consideration.
The offer was readily accepted and the people came and

danced and all had such a jolly time that they decided to
make the dance at Blakely's a fixed feature in the sweet
amenities of their social life. ThfiJ^hristaasdance at Blake
ly's came to be the social event of the season, and brought to
gether all the young folks for miles around. Here our moth
ers and fathers danced and.lhfiir childi'en grew jrp and took
their places, and so for more than a quarter of a century these
merry dances were kept up.
It was at these dances that Uncle Pleas was in his glory.
The boys would bring a httle brown jug and after Uncle Pleas
had been introduced to it a few times, he would begin to
warm up. He didn't care then whether Nanoy made a dollar
or a dime, he was going in for a good time and he wanted
everybody to help.
Two large rooms would be cleared of furniture and the
young fellows would choose their partners for the dance, a
"set" forming in each room. While they were thus engaged,
Uncle Pleas was tuning his fiddle. When all was ready he
would take his station by the middle door where he acted as
prompter and orchestra for both rooms. As the night wore
on, Uncle Pleas would step out occasionally to see how his
friend was getting along and each time he returned his eyes
would sparkle a little brighter, he would spit a little oftener
and his laugh would have a merrier ring. And how he could
laugh. It was the very abandonment of mirth and joy ; and
as you looked and listened you caught the merry contagion
and laughed with^him from pure sympathy. Then he would
tune his fiddle a little higher and in answer to some youth
for "somethin' quick and devilish," he would plunge into a
"Hornpipe" or "The Devil's Dream," and the wild, wierd
strains of that old violin would quicken the sluggish blood
and send it bounding through the veins and cause every nerve
to tingle with the joy of exhilaration. Fast and furious the
dance went on, each dancer trying to outdo the others in fan
tastic steps, and when at last he s^nt them sweating and pant
ing to their seais, each felt that he had gotten his money's

worth. But while Uncle Pleas was giving the young folks a
good time in the big house, Aunt Nancy was out in the kitch
en taking care of the financial end of the function. She, too,
gave the young people their money's worth in good substan
tial food, and she saw to it that she got the money. Some
one asked her one night if she wasn't nearly worn out, and
her reply was characteristic: "Well," said she, "I am purty
tolerable tired, but I believe I could run a mile yit ef there
was a dollar at the end of it."
And so these two lived their life, did their work as well
as they could, and were kind. They gave the world more
smiles than frowns, lifted some clouds and scattered some
sunshine and then they died, he April 10th, 1894, and she
Nov. 23rd, 1901, leaving William, Charles and Michael,
their only surviving children, still living in the same old
neighborhood.

DAVID McCUE.

A large percentage of the first settle- s in this county
came fr. > m Virginia and Kentucky. A certain harmony of
ideals, a similarity of manners and customs, together with a
code of honor to which both h* arrily subscribed, created a
bond of union between them. They set up new altars in the
wilderness but retained the worship of the old gods. They
poured out upon their altars the incense of hospitality and
true friendship, and the fragrant perfumes reminded them of
their old homes. Each state made contribution of the best of
her sons and daughters, for there was need of a brave and
virile race to multiply and replenish the wilderness and sub
due it. Among the arrivals from the Old Dominion in 1844 was
DAVID McCUE
and his family, consisting at that time of his wife and twelve
children. The advent of this family added much to the nu
merical strength of the new community.
David McCue was born near Williamsburg, Greenbrier
county, Va., February 18th, 1802. Was married to Martha
McNeel, August 23rd, 1827. She was a native of Pocahontas
county, Va., and was born Oct. 30th, 1810. The fruits of
this union were eighteen children, twelve boys and six girls,
fifteen of whom lived to reach their majority.
Following are the names and brief records of this re
markable family of children, perhaps the largest ever reared

in Daviess county
Paul M., born Nov. 16th, 1828; wounded during the
seige of Vicksburg during the Civil war, from the effects of
which he died Dec. 22nd, 1863.
Isaac M., born April 6th, 1830; living no>r in James-
port, Mo.
Franklin, born April 30th, 1831 ; died Feb. 24th, 1864.
Margaret E., born May 27th, 1832 ; died when four years
old. Rachel A., born June 29th, 1833; married Alphonso L.
Martin and is still living somewhere in Kansas.
David, born Jan. 29th, 1885; died Jan. 28th, 1861.
James W., born June 10th, 1836; lives in Lock Springs,
Mo. John, born August 27th, 1837; lives in Shelby county,
Mo. William P., born November 17th, 1838, died August 4th,
1862. Charles, born March 2nd, 1840; died several years ago.
Hannah J., born July 15th, 1841; lives in Jackson coun
ty, Mo. George W., born October 8th, 1842; lives near Gilman
City, Mo.
Richard M., born February 19th, 1844; lives in Gailatin,
Mo. Abram J., born March 22nd, 1846; died in ifnancy.
Virginia M., born March 22nd, 1846; died in infancy.
Matthew W. , born Dec. 8th, 1847 ; lives in Shelby coun
ty, Mo. Mary E., born May 9th. 1849.
Martha A., born August 11th, 1851.
The two last mentioned have been dead for s everal years.
Mr. McCue's first wife died May 13th, 1854, and after re
maining a widower for 5 years, he married the widow of An
drew Leeper of Livingston county in 1859, and had five chil
dren by his last wife, four girls and a boy. The girls , Nettie,

Ella, Willie and Cassieare still living, but the boy, Andrew,
died several years ago.
In 1886 he removed with his last family to the Chicka
saw Nation, but his health failing, he was brought back to
this county and cared for by his children until his death,
which occurred at the home of his son, Richard M., Sept.
12th, 1892, and his body was laid to rest in the Jordin grave
yard by the side of his first wife and most of his children.
It would mean much now for a woman to be the mother
of such a brood of lusty youngsters, but it meant more in the
early days.
The pioneer mother was a helpmeet in the truest sense of
the word. In her was combined the essence of all the tutelary
gods. She belonged to no lodge, was not a member of any
society, never attended fashionable functions, never gave a
card party and never worried because she could not vote.
But lacking all these, she yet was not idle. The mother of
eighteen children could usually find something to do. In or
der that her children might be clothed it was necessary to
card wool by hand, spin it on a "big wheel," reel it on a
count reel, the yarn dyed and made ready for the loom and
when woven into cloth, the garments must be cut and made
at home. Jan^s, blue mixed, gray mixed and black for the
boys, while for the girls there was linsey and flannels, woven
in various designs aud in brilliant colors. The mother was
tailor and dressmaker. The boys, even the little fellows',
wore long pantaloons, a roundabout for the smaller ones and
a "wamuss," with occasionally a frock coat for Sunday was
the unvarying style of dress. The girls never worried them
selves into a fit of nervous prostration while trying to find
some particular shade of dress goods, and no dressmaker ever
thwarted nature by defacing the God-given symmetry of their
bodies. Then there was the knitting and darning and patching,
the cooking and washing and ironing, little faces to wash,
little heads to comb and little shoes to tie. There is one with

a cut finger to be bandaged, another with a grass cut under
his toe and still another with a stonebruise on his heel, all
crying for mother at once. Then on Sunday morning when
they made their weekly change of undergarments to have ten
or a dozen husky boys all shouting at once "where's my
shirt," (that being the only article of underwaits known to
the pioneer boy) was enough to run an ordinary woman dis
tracted. And then each night the weary mother would tuck
them away in "the trundle beds that each helt three" with a
silent prayer to God to keep her little ones safely through the
night. But while the mother of such a family had her worries
she was not alone. The father also had a few things to look
after. He was commander-in-chief of this little army as well
as its ex-officio commissary general. David McCue was pe
culiarly fitted by nature to take charge of such a family. He
had the lungs of Stentor,
"The front of Jove
An eye like Mars to threaten and command, ' '
and he enforced a not unkind, but rigid discipline, although
there might be occasionally one who had to "learn obedience
by the things that he suffered." He was a good provider, a
loving husband and a kind father, and in return his children
loved and honored him above all men. It is indeed a great
thing for a man to so live that he will deserve and receive the
respect of his children.
While a family of this numerical distinction would be
the despair of the woman, who, like the proverbial hen with
one chicken, is worrying her life out over one little, spindle
shanked, penwiper boy, it would upon the other hand pro
voke the unbounded "delight" of President Roosevelt, the
strenuous champion of large families

THEODORE PENISTON
Was born in Jessamine county, Kentucky, May 6th,
1812. He was a son of Robert P. Peniston, who was one of
the first settlers of Daviess county and the founder of the old
town of Millport. Theodore was educated in Kentucky and
came to this county with his father in 1831. The elder Pen
iston was a man of untiring energy, intelligent and progres
sive. There were no mills in the county then and the pioneer
pounded his corn in a rude mortar made by hollowing out
the end of a log, and in this way obtained meal for his daily
bread. Robert Peniston at once set about the erection of a
horse mill and soon had one in operation. This mill, rude as
it was, proved a boon to the early settlers of the county. I
have heard many of them tell of the times when they would
go to Peniston's horse mill for grinding, and of the long te
dious waiting for their "turn." But they went prepared to
sray a week if necessary, for many of the customers came
long distances and could not afford to return without their
grist. Time was of little value to the pioneer and I fancy
that they rather enjoyed camping at this old mill and swap
ping news with the other customers. This enterprise on the
part of Peniston had the effect of attracting others, and soon
Daviess county had laid the foundations of her first town- -
Millport. Josiah Morin and his brother opened a genera J
store, John A. Williams put in a stock of groceries, and Mil-

ford Donaho erected a blacksmith shop. Millport became
the business center of a large scope of country, settlers often
coming a distance of forty miles to get their grinding done
and do their trading. As the Millport merchants had no
competition nearer than the Missouri river towns their busi
ness flourished. There was but little money in the country at
that time. It was the "trade and barter" period of our eco
nomic development. Hides and peltries, dried venison, tallow,
beeswax, and honey passed readily as the current money of
the realm. In return for these the settler received sugar,
coffee and tobacco, calico, domestic, bar lead and powder, as
well as other necessities of life. As the country became more
thickly settled other stores were added. Lomax & Jacobs
came from Richmond, Mo., and established a general store.
This firm afterwards moved^to Trenton and opened the first
store in that town. Lomax went to California in 1849, while
Jacobs remained in Trenton and was County Clerk of Grundy
county from 1841 to 1848. Worthington & Co. was another
of the pioneer firms of Millport. They also kept a general
store. "General store" was a comprehensive term in the pi
oneer days. Here everything that the pioneer trade demanded
was indiscrimately mingled. Dry goods,boots and shoes, gro
ceries, hardware, and a very good article of whiskey at eigh
teen cents a gallon, could all be found in one of these log
cabin stores. But if Millport's career was brilliant it was al
so brief. In 1837 Gallatin was founded and much of Mill
port's business was transferred to the new town, and in 1838
the Mormons burned the buildings that remained and all that
was left of Millport was the memory of its name and the place
where once it stood. The site of this pioneer town was about
three miles due east of Gallatin on the farm now owned by
Rev. William Merritt.
Theodore Peniston served under General Doniphan dur
ing the Mexican war, studied law, was admitted to the bar,
and practiced that profession for several years. But practic-

ing law was rather slow work and not very remunerative at
that time and Peniston soon tired of inactivity, bought some
land and engaged in farming.
February 17th, 1848, Theodore Peniston was married to
Miss Susan Williams, daughter of George Williams. The
issue of this union was six children whose names follow :
Francis Matilda, George W., Anthony, William P,, Mary
Ann, and Robert. Of these George died many years ago.
Francis married Dr. A. F. McFarland, and being widowed
by her husband's death, now lives with her daughter, Mrs.
A. A. Schute, in this city, Mary married Henry Hamilton
and she and her husband, Anthony and Robert all live near
each other, and own fine farms and are well fixed. That this
younger generation are whole souled, generous hearted peo
ple goes without saying, for the descendants of a Peniston
and a Williams could not well be otherwise.
Theodore Peniston was a man of strong individuality,
quick to take offense where he thought an offense was in
tended, but he did not bear malice and was always ready to
forgive and forget the moment his enemy would make the
amende honorable.
I remember of unthoughtedly offending him once when
I was young. Mr. Peniston was a justice of the peace and
member of the township board. A bridge was ordered built
across Little Muddy and the board let the contract to Nathan
Broughton. Broughton was a sort of a jack-of -all-trades,
and had rather hazy ideas as to how a bridge ought to be
constructed, but he went ahead with the job and in due time
the bridge was completed. Broughton had worked along ori
ginal lines and the bridge like the sweet singer of Israel was
"fearfully ai d wonderfully made."
At this time the youi g people of that neighborhood or
ganized a literary society which held weekly meetings at old
Harmony church. Among the items upon our weekly pt.v-
gram was the reading of our society pnper, "The Jackson

Astonisher." It so happened that I was occupying the edi
torial tripod of the Astonisher about the time the bridge was
completed and under the caption of "The Eight Wonder of the
World" I wrote a very sassy editorial in which I lampooned
the township board and everbody even remotely connected with
the contract and tried to say funny and unfeeling things
about the bridge itself. The editorial pleased the members
of the club and John Rhea offered a resolution directing that
a copy be sent to the North Missourian, which promptly car
ried. J . T. Day was running the Missourian then and being
a kind hearted man he humored the joke and published the
article. The other members of the board probably never
knew that the article was written or if they did just con
sidered the source and let it pass. But Uncle Theodore was
different, and when I met him not long afterwards he read
me a lecture on juvenile impertinence that I never forgot.
Sometimes he would drink to excess. His penchant for
strong drink was the vulnerable spot in his armor. Aside
from this there was no better man.
In all his intercourse with men he was ever courageous,
generous, and kind. In the presence of true womanhood he
stood with uncovered head and did full honor to all that was
true and noble in womankind. He reverenced conscience as
his king, honesty was stamped in every lineament of his
rugged face and his heart beat true to the promptings of
justice that was ever tempered with tenderest mercy. He
had in large degree those distinctive traits that ever mark
the gentleman, whether chance or fate has clothed him in
tinsel or homespun, or housed him in a castle or a cabin.

<f5^3**=J>"

MR. AND MRS. ADDISON PRICE.

(f=*<s^te^

ADDISON PRICE
One of the best known of the early settlers of the eastern
part of the county was Addison Price. A Virginian by
birth, having been born in Greenbrier county in 1812. He
was by nature and education a genial, whole souled, kindly
hearted gentleman. In 1835 he was married to Margaret
Brown, who was born in 1813 and was also a native of Green
brier county. About a year after their marriage these young
people came West to grow up with the country, and in 1836
came to Missouri, stopping for a while in Jackson county. In
1 837 they settled in Daviess county and continued to live here
until 1865, when he moved to Johnson county, where he died
about the year 1884.
Like a majority of the early settlers Addison Price and
wife were blest with a large family of children. Just an
even dozen — five boys and seven girls. Of these Charles W.
Price was the eldest, having been born in 1836. He has
prospered in life, and surrounded by peace and plenty is
spending the evening of life on a fine farm a few miles east
of Jamesport, Mo. Samuel, the second son, was born in
1838. He now resides at Cole Grove, California. Virginia
Tye born in 1840, lives at Durant, I. T. Hannah Corrall,
born 1842, died about the year 1892. Martha Pemberton,
born 1844, lives at Pittsville, Mo. George Price, born 1847,
lives near Butler, Mo. Sallie Dalton, born 1849, Kansas

City, Mo. Allen Price, born 1851, Broken Arrow, I. T.
John Price, born 1853, died about 1886 Louisa Price born
1856, died about the year 1876. Ella F. Price, born 1858,
Cole Grove, California. Bell Graham, Lorn 1860, Warrens
burg, Mo.
My earliest recollection is connected with Addison Price.
He lived near and was frequently at our house. When I was
not more than three years old I can remember of his calling
me to him and ordering me to "lay my bald head" on his
knee while he thumped it; and when I had obediently com
plied and had been properly "thumped" I would retire to a
safe distance and curiously regard this funny old man. His
gray beard that reached below his waist gave to him a vener
able and patriarchal appearance. But if the snows of many win
ters lay white upon his "frosty pow," eternal spring was in his
heart. He was an inveterate joker and apparently must have
laid awake of nights planning practical jokes upon his neigh
bors ; but it was all done with such freedom from malice that
it was seldom if ever that anyone was seriously offended.
The first charivari at which I was ever present was at his
house, the occasion being the "infair" upon the wedding of
his son, C. W. Price. This was I think in 1862. It was per
haps ten o'clock at night, and in the hospitable home all was
moving merrily along with the simple joys and good cheer
incident to occasions of this kind when all at once upon the
outside ' 'There arose so wild a yell ,
As if all the fiends from Heaven that fell
Had awakened in thht narrow dell,
The piercing battle cry of hell."
Pandemonium and several of its relatives had broken loose.
The roar of heavily loaded guns made the windows rattle,
cow bells clanged their discordant notes, long drawn out
blasts from hunting horns that had once been the crowning
glory of some Texas steer, blown by brawny fellows with

lusty lungs all mingling with yells that would have put a
Comanche Indian upon his mettle contributed to the horrible
din. Boy like I made a dash for the door, but was no sooner
outside than I was run over and knocked down and for a few
moments I accumulated experience very rapidly. During the
progress of the charivari some of the young men on the in-
side dashed out and seized one of the visitors, and after a
terrific struggle succeeded in bringing him into the house.
As I remember now the young man captured was Will McNeill.
He had a lot of cow bells on a belt that was buckled about
his waist and otherwise provided with the means of making
his share of the noise. All was intended and accepted in the
spirit of good fellowship and was but a common incident of
the times. Mrs Price's given name was Margaret as already stated,
but her friends and relatives called her Peggy. Names, like
the people, have changed. Mary was Polly, Elizabeth was Liz,
Nancy was Nan, in the early days for Maggie and Mollie and
Lizzie and Nannie had not yet arrived ; nor had Idah, and
Cara and Ethyl even sent word that they were coming.
Mrs. Price was as I recollect her rather large bnt well
proportioned, blue eyed, brown haired and a complection
which even in her old age was as fresh and ruddy as a young
girl. It needed no cosmetic to add to its beautiful blending
of pink and white. And what magnificent voices had those
old pioneer mothers. When a number of them joined in sing
ing the old hymns they made music that stirred the deepest
emotions of the soul. For they entered into the spirit of the
song and its words gave expression to their hopes and fears,
thtir love and their longings. Sometimes the song was in
itself a prayer ;again it was a call to battle, and anon it pealed
forth like a pean of victory. Truly they sang with the spirit
and the understanding, worshipped in song, "singing and
making melody in their hearts to the Lord."
And what splendid nurses they were — veritable angels of

mercy in the sick room. Doctors were scarce and it fell to
the mother to look after the infantile ills of her brood,
and not only her own children but those of her neighbors as
well. There was something of universal motherhood in the
hearts of these women, and they shared the knowledge gained
by experience freely with each other. After all I sometimes
think that our mothers with their "roots and yarbs," their
teas and bitters, treated our ailments quite as successfully as
the modern M. D. with all his pellets and granules, his tinc
tures and triturates. But it was little wonder that the pioneer
mother objected to allowing the old time physician to treat
her little ones, for the doctor of that day believed in heoric
measures. He would physic his patients with a copious dose
of calomel, then bleed him and put a fly blister on what was
left of him, and then if he lived he lived and if he
died, that was the end of him. In surgery they knew noth
ing of anesthetics, antisceptics or sterilized bandages. But
fortunately there was little demand for their services along
this line. They never dreamed that their brethern of another
generation would open up their patients, take out their run
ning gears, regulate them, oil them, and start them to run
ning again with as little ceremony as a jeweler would regulate
a Waterbury watch. Of course once in a while the works re
fuse to go when they are put back, in open defiance of all the
rules of the game, but the doctor is safe, as his sheepskin
protects him from prosecution for murder.
In 1844 the county court by its order designated "the
house of Addison Price" as the polling place for Jackson
township at the general state election to be held for two days,
the first Monday and Tuesday in August, and named Robert
Miller, Jacob Oxford and Jonathan Jordin as judges of elec
tion.

THE JORDINS.
The older members of the Jordin family evidently cared
little for genealogies or family trees, as I have been unable to
find any written record kept by any branch of the family, and
am therefore unable to give names and dates as I would like
to. Perhaps after all it is just as well to eliminate the family
tree and let the individual branch be judged by the fruit it
bears. The Jordins never owned a coat of arms ; if they had
they doubtless would have adopted the motto, "Let every tub
stand on its own bottom "
Jonathan and Isaac Jordin settled in this county in 1839.
In 1843 Abram and Franklin Jordin came and also settled
here. These four were brothers and natives of Pocahontas
county, Virginia. Their father, John Jordin, was a native of
County Down, Ireland, and emigrated to this country in 1783.
John Jordin attended school in Dublin, and having lost an
arm and being thereby incapacitated for manual labor, taught
sehool for awhile after his arrival here, and when he had ac
cumulated a few dollars he bought a atock of goods and con
verting them into a neat pack shouldered his wealth and
trudged away to meet whatever fate or fortune might hold in
store for him. He had possibly "kissed the blarney stone"
before leaving the Emerald Isle, as he was not only success
ful in business but also in love, for Miram McNeil, a win
some girl decended from an old Pocahontas county family,

yielded to the sweet persuasion of the Irish lad and became
his wife. Then he settled down and became a farmer, and
as the years went by nine children came to bless their union
— five boys, John, Jonathan, Isaac, Abram and Franklin ;
four girls, Jennie, Nancy, Martha, and Mary. John, the eld
est, married and settled near his old home. The other broth
ers came to Missouri as stated. Of the girls, Mary died
while young, the other girls married and settled in Virginia.
Of those in Virginia I know but little beyond their names.
Jonathan, Isaac, and Franklin settled near each other,
Jonathan on section 22, Isaac on section 10, and Franklin on
section 16.
Franklin Jordin was the youngest of the brothers and
was born iu Pocahontas county, Va., in 1818. He married
in early life, while yet living in Virginia, his first wife being
au Edmiston. She lived bur a short time after their mar
riage, in 1850 he was united in marriage with Nancy Jen
nings Bailinger. To them were b >rn three children, the
writer Sept. 8, 1851, and twin girls, Angeline and Martha,
May 26, 1854. Of these Martha died in infancy, Angeline
married John W. Pinkerton, and lives at Polo, Missouri.
Before my father's death he had bought 240 acres of
land and had erected a comfortable log house and other
buildings thereon The house was about twenty feet square.
The flooring was sawed from walnut logs with a whip saw
and the roof was of white oak shingles, riven and shaved by
hand, William Conklin doing that part of the work. There
were one window and two doors to the hon-e. On one of the
doors there was a thumb latch, while the other was fastened
with a string latch. For the benefit of the younger genera
tion let me explain that a string latch was made of wood and
fastened upon the inside. To it was attached a buckskin
string and this string was passed through a small hole hired
in the door about six inches above the latch. Anyone wish
ing to enter had only to pull this string in order to lift the

latch and the door would open. At night the string could be
pulled in and the door was secured against outside intrusion.
Thiscrude device,like the cabins it protected, has passed away,
but in passing it has enriched our language with the sug
gestive symbol of old fashionedhospitality, "Our latch string
always hangs out."
The rafters were made of poles of the required length
hewed to a straight edge on one side. The joists were hewed
out of cottonwood or some other kind of soft wood. There
was a big fireplace at the north side, and the northwest cor
ner was set apart as kitchen and dining room. The south
part was occupied by two high beds and trundle beds* The
northeast corner was the sitting room. Remember that these
divisions were along imaginary lines, as there were no parti
tions in the house — just one big square room. Later on an
other cabin was built about ten feet from tha big house and
connected with it by a broad puncheon, and this was also
provided with a fireplace, and became the kitchen and dining
room. These buildings stood on the northeast quarter of the
southwest quarter of section 16, township 59, range 26. Here
my father and mother lived, here their children were born,
and here my father died in 1855 and my mother in 1874.
When father left Virginia to come West his father gave
him a negro man named Flet. They had grown up together
on the old plantation and there wa-* perhaps little in their re
lations with each other to remind either that the one was
master, the other slave; Side by side they toiled in the wil
derness, together shared their frugal fare, warmed by the
same fire, and were sheltered by the same cabin home. Little
or no restraint was placed upon Flet's movements. He went
and came at will, and when he one day disappeared his ab
sence occasioned but little concern. But as the days wore
on Flet's continued absence prompted father to make some
inquiry among his neighbors, and as a result of this investi
gation he became convinced that Flet had "run away."

Father made no effort to find the negro, and at the end of
some six weeks Flet returned. John D. Gillilan, who had
stayed the preceding night with father, once told me the story
of Flet's return. According to Gillilan's version of the affair
it was early in the morning and father was preparing break
fast for the two by the fireplace when the door opened and up
on looking around they saw Flet. He presented rather a folorn
looking appearance, as if freedom had not agreed with him
any too well. Father made no sign of recognition, and the
negro came in and as the weather was cold, sidled into his ac
customed corner by the fire, casting furtive glances at father
as if to read his fate. But the master's face gave no sign of
anger or joy, although these passions were doubtless con
tending in his heart — anger that the boy had run away, joy
that he had returned. Breakfast ready Gillilan and father
sat down to their meal, and as they did so father remarked to
Flet that if he was hungry he had better fry some more bat
ter cakes. While Mr Gillilan remained no questions were
asked and no explanation offered concerning Flet's absence.
The incident was closed, their former relations resumed, and
continued until father's death.
Like most of the early pioneers father found pleasure
and recreation in the chase. S. K. Dinsmore used to say
that he was "one of the bests shots and the most reckless
rider that he ever knew."
In the early days pictures were scarce and we had none
of father, but as a child I questioned many who knew him as
to his appearance, for the fact that I could not remember him
distressed me no little. From information thus gained I take
it that he was in person tall, slender, quick and active in his
movements. In disposition, quiet and reserved; would talk
freely with intim ite friends, but in a cr >wd his attitud-3 was
silent and observant. Honest aud upright in his dBalin^?,
generous hearted and true to his friends. He lived a simple
life and faithfully performed the duties that lay next to him.

And so for half the time allotted man he walked the earth,
toiled, loved, joyed, sorrowed, and suffered, then "passed to
silence and pathetic dust," leaving her who had been his
helpmeet to bear alone the burden which it would have been
his joy to share.
Then for nineteen years the mother went on, her life cen
tered in her children, living only for them. For them she
thought, planned, and toiled. With clear vision she saw her
children's defects, and with firmness and kindly patience she
pointed out to them the better way. Looking backward to
my boyhood days I can realize now how often I must have
tried her patience, for I was ever a willful, impatient, head
strong child that loved nothing quite so well as to have my
own way. We never realize until we have children of our
own the unselfish devotion of parental love. The love that
never bargains, that asks nothing, but freely gives all. The
love that effaces self, dwells in the land of negation and self
denial; that will toil, suffer ami endure all things and if need
be yield up life itself as a willing sacrifice up >n the altar of
its affection. Of the three brothers of my father I knew Isaac Jordin
best. He was born in 1806 and settled in this county in 1839.
He was united by marriage with Miss Mary Callison, also a
native of Virginia. They had three children, Franklin, who
married Susan Rhea; Rebecca, who became the wife of Ro
bert Russell, now living at Odessa, Mo., and Elizabeth, who
became the wife of Samuel Beard, now widowed a id living in
Lafayette, county, Mo.
Isaac Jordin took an active interest in all mitters per
taining to the public welfare and held some minor positions
of public trust in the early days. As a justice of the peace, he
performed the first marriage ceremony in Jamesport township,
the occasion being the marriage of Richard Hill and Miss
Ann Gillilan in 1854. In 1854 he was elected county asses
sor, which position he held for several years.

He was a staunch member of the Methodist church and
his house was the home of any preacher who passed that way.
Kind and hospitable, he enjoyed the comp mionship of his
friends, and nothing gave him more pleasure than to have the
house full of "company." While strict and prompt in the
performance of his religious obligations, he would sometimes
on meeting with a friend in town indulge in a social glass. I
do not think that he ever indulged to excess, but under the
mellowing influence of a glass or .two his generous heart
would expand until there was room for all his friends, and at
such times he had no enemies, or if he had they were forgot
ten. Following close upon the heels of these periods of spir
itual exaltation, during which he loved his neighbors even
better than himself, there would be a time of rigid self-ex
amination, humiliation, and self abasement, during which his
title to "mansions in the skies" wa< clouded by agonizing
doubts and fears.
As a rule he was sociable and rather talkative,but if some
thing occurred that troubled him he would lapse into a moody
silence that would sometimes continue for days. Once dur
ing the war his son ar.d son-in-law were required to serve in
the home guards, and as they had quite a lot of stock on hand I
was helping uncle to look after it during their absenc \ While
thus employed uncle suddenly quit talking and for nearly a
week' scarcely spoke except to give the most meager directians
concerning the work in hand. He did not appear to be out
of humor, but there was a troubled look upon his face that
forbade inquiry as to its cau <e. One night in the kitchen I
asked Cousin Lizzie why uncle did nottulk, and she said, "Oh,
father has lost histongue,but don't worry about it. He wiil
find it in a few day and then he will be all right." And he
did. The storm in his soul had passed, and the social atmo
sphere was clear once more.
In November, 1863, George and Frank McCue and a com
rade named Markham left the Confederate army and undertook

to make their way North in order that Frank, who was suffer
ing from serious wounds, might be properly cared for. As
the boys reached the old neighborhood a cold drizzling rain
set in, turning into sleet. They went into camp at a place
near Uncle Isaac's, known as the "rock house." They had
made the trip thus far on horseback, but Frank was now
thoroughly exhausted by the suffering and exposure incident
to their long and tiresome journey. He had reached the
limit of his feeble strength and it looked like he had endured
the tortures of his long journey only to lie down and die like
an outcast almost in sight of his old home. The weather
continued to be inclement and George decided to go to Uncle
Isaac and make their condition known. He did so and uncle
at once directed them to bring Frank to the house, which
they did at once. George and Markham continued their
journey, but Frank remained some days resting and recuper
ating his strength, then one night Tom Bradshaw came with
a covered wagon and took Frank on to lo va, where he was
cared for at the home. of a friend until some time during the
following year, when he died
Uncle was not ignorant of what the probable consequences
of this act would be. He knew that in giving food and shel
ter to Frank McCue that he was violating military law,
which forbade the giving of ' aid and comfort' ' to those in re
bellion. He knew that to reach ou the hand of mercy and try
to save this battered piece of flotsam cast up by the waves from
the crimson sea of war, was an offense so grave that he who
committed it endangered his liberty, perhaps his life. But
knowing all this be it said to his credit he never hesitated for
a moment. "Let the consequences be what they may," said
he, "it shall never be said that I turned one of my neighbor's
children from my doors when he was hungry, sick and with
out shelter." There was a committee in each township com
posed of three members whose duty it was to promptly report
offenses of this kind. The names of the men composing these

committees are before me as I write, but I have no desire to
open old wounds. The matter was however promptly re
ported to Lieut. Col. S. P. Cox at Gallatin. But Col. Cox
possessed that generous nature that always characterizes the
truly brave man, and a friendly warning was given and
uncle bade farewell to his home and left, never to return.
Of Jonathan and Abram Jordin I know but little beyond
what has already been told. Jonathan was born in 1802 and
Abram in 1812.
Jonathan was twice married,his first wife being a Callison.
By her he had two children, Anthony and John. His last
wife was an Edmiston, and by her he had six children.
William, James, Isaac, Elizabeth, Rebeeca, and Miram. Of
these but two are now living, William at Carpedteria, Cali
fornia, and Isaac in Livingston couuty, Mo.

poo«"»o o*>rj *->oo<

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JOSEPH W. ROSE, M. D.

A noted nacuralist has pointed out the striking resem
blance which some men bear to certain birds and animals.
Not alone is this true as to physical characteristics, but the com
parison holds good as to mental traits. "Eagles we see fly
alone," says Prudenhomme, "anl they are but sheep who
herd together." The weak and cowardly carnivorae hunt in
packs, while the lion roams the jungle in lonely majesty and
stalks his game alone. Among the pioneers as a class we
mi^ht find types corresponding to the eagle, the lion, or the
bull dog, but the timid types seldom ventured far into the
wilderness. The requirements of pioneer life called for men
who could stand alone, with the courage to toil and the pa
tience to wait. Such a man was
JOSEPH W. ROSE, M. D.
Dr. Rose was a Pennsylvanian by birth, having been born
in Williamsport, March 10th, 1812. He moved with his
father to Kentucky in 1824, where he grew to manhood. In
1835 he emigrated to this state, stopping for a while in Marion
county, where he attended what was then known as Marion
College for awhile. About this time he decided to study
medicine. He was not financially able at that time to attend
a medical college, but in spite of this drawback, by dint of
hard study he managed to acquire a fair medical education,
and in 1842 began the practice of medicine in Ralls county,
Missouri. In the meantime he had married Mary Kennedy,
a daughter of Capt. John Kennedy of Paris, Ky., which

event occurred Aug. 1, 1838. After practicing in Ralls coun
ty for a few years he resolved to push on a little farther west,
where there would be more room, and in the fall of 1845 he
settled in Daviess county. The country was thinly settled
and the young doctor found it difficult at times to meet the
demands of his growing family. The writer's father had
come here from Virginia a shoit time before this, had pre
empted a tract of land and built a comfortable log house,
where he and "Flet," his negro man, kept bachelor's hall.
My father and the young doctor met, liked each other, be
came friends and it ended in father inviting the doctor to his
house to make it his home as long as it suited his convenience.
The doctor accepted the invitation and on August 1st, 1846,
moved in, and I feel sure that father was as pleased to have
them there as they were to find a shelter in the wilderness.
The friendship thus begun in the little log cabin on the west
ern banks of Little Muddy waxed stronger as the years went
by, and father dying bequeathed to wife and children the
priceless legacy of one true friend. And what a friend he
was. The night was never too dark, the way too far, nor he
too weary for him to come at the call of our distress. His
inspiring talks became to me "a fountain of ambition and
bright hope." He took me from my squalid 'surroundings
aud showed me the way to better things.
"Then did I seek to rise
Out of the prison of my mean estate,
And, with such jewels as the exploring mind
Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom
From those twin jailers of the darmg heart —
Low birth and iron fortune."
After practicing his profession for several years he
moved with his family to Livingston county April 1st, 1857.
Here upon a finely improved farm he spent the remainder of
his life. In 1866 he laid aside his practice for a time and at
tended McDowell College in St. Louis and took his degree,
thus finally triumphing over all difficulties and achieving tho
one ambition of his life.

Dr. Rose was a public benefactor — a hero without know
ing it. His mission in life was to relieve suffering and do
good. He was chief among us, for he was truly the servant
of all. Poverty could claim his services as readily as wealth.
His patients were scattered for many miles in every direction
from his home and when there was much sickness he went on
and on for weeks at a time, scarcely taking time to eat or
sleep, riding long distances on horseback, sometimes sleeping
in the saddle, and thinking more often of his horse than of
himself and more careful to see that it was properly fed than
in seeming something for himself. A natural humorist, he
saw the bright side of life, and in his unsi'lfishness made
light of his own toils and privations. His very presence in
the sick room acted like a tonic, and his cheerful smile and
reassuring words inspired hope in the heart of many a de
spondent sufferer. He was the most tireless rider that I ever
saw. I have ridden with him many times, and no matter how
long the distance or how weary he might be, I never saw him
change his erect position in the saddle. He knew every cow
path within a radius of twenty miles from his hoim and when
the country wa* yet new and ihe larger part nnfenced, he
rarely traveled a public highway. He took all the "near
cuts." This meant a saving of time to him, and of suffering and
sometimes life to his patients. I remember having been sent
for him once with instructions not to return until I found
him. I did uot find him at home and his family could give
me none but the most general directions as to finding him.
He was somewhere on the east fork of Grand river. For
three days I searched the breaks of the river, on up into
Poosey, occasionally striking his trail only to lose it again
and so the disheartening search went on for two days. The
second night it rained and the next morning I stopped at a
house to enquire and learned that he had left there about an
hour before, "und," my informant added "he is riding a shod
horse and you had better just take his trail and follow it."
And I did. For two hours I rode rapidly over hills and hol
lows, along cow paths and lonely wood roads, at last coming

out into a public road. I followed that a short distance when
the "shod horse" turned into a lane. I had already explored
that lane in my wanderings and knew it was a cul de sac, so I
examined the ground carefully and was overjoyed to find that
while the "shod horse" had gone in, he had not come out.
And so I found him, and all that day I rode with him, visit
ing his patients and late that night I got home with the doc
tor, weary but triumphant.
I have often heard the doctor relate an experience that he
had during the early years of his practice. It seems that
some sort of an epidemic prevailed among the people and the
disease, whatever it was, was new to him and he was wholly
unable to control it. The mortality among his patients was
something fearful. The doctor consulted the few books in
his library and racked his brain to try and determine the na
ture of the disease and to find a remedy. But all to no pur
pose. His patients kept on dying and finally one day in a fit
of despair he resolved to go home and quit the practice.
With him to decide was to act. He went home, threw his
saddle bags into a corner and announced to his wife that he
had quit the practice of medicine and thenceforth would be a
farmer. He bought a yoke of cattle and went to plowing
People came for him as usual, but to all he resolutely re
turned the unvarying reply that he had quit the practice of
medicine. This state of things continued for several davs,
but finally one of his particular friends fell sick and sent for
him. Yes, he would go to see his friend, not as a doctor,
mind you, for he wasn't a doctor any more, but he would go
as a neighbor and friend and do what he could. He went
and it so happened his friend was pretty sick, and before he
kne w it the habit of years was asserting itself and he was a
doctor again — a ministering angel to the suffering.
Several years before his death he retired from active
practice and in the retirement of his beautiful country place,
surrounded by a splendid library, he gave himself up t > the
pleasures of scientific research. Always a student, ha kept
in touch not only with the most advanced thinkers of his own

profession, but found time to prosecute independent research
along other scientific lines as well.
He died Sept. 26th, 1898, at the advanced age of 86
years. It needs no marble shaft to keep his memory green,
for in a thousand loving hearts his name is held in grateful
remembrance.

WOOD BURGE.

WOOD BURGE.
Born in Patrick county, Virginia, moved to Daviess
county in 1857, died Sept. 3rd, 1893.
My request for data to be used in this sketch brought the
above meager outlines of the life of one of the most unique
and original characters that I ever met. Emerson says that
"the most unfortunate thing about a man's birth is that he
is born at all." After that it really matters but little as to
when and where.
Wood Burge was born and reared in the "Blue Ridge"
country, and you could not look at the man without feeling
that there was in his nature something of the unyielding firm
ness of his native hills. There was about the man a certain
reserved force that only comes to those who have graduated
from the hard school of self denial and who have mastered
the art of self control. Out of his own experience and shrewd
observation he had formulated the philosophy of life, ex
pressed in quaint epigrams and pithy proverbs which Mackin
tosh defined as being "One man's wit and all men's wis
dom." His vocabulary was iuterlarded with many provin
cialisms that sounded strange to Western ears. One day
when I whs working for him he told me to "carry the horses
to water," and when I replied rather impertinently that I
would prefer to let the horses carry me, he remarked dryly
that I was "too snia't for one boy, but ha'dly sma't onough

or two." Another time when I was helping him do his
threshing a discussion arose as to what kind of farm work
was the hardest. Uncle Woody listened to the argument for
awhile and then summed it all up in a single terse sentence
by saying, "All work is hard, if you work hard at it."
When he hired a man to work for him he saw to it that
the man earned his pay and the pay was always ready as soon
as it was earned. His harness was always in good repair and
tools in working order, and there was never any excuse for
delay or loss of time. He insisted on having his work done
right. There was to be no undue haste, nothing was to be
slighted. "Just take a steady gait and keep a goiu' " was
his usual injunction. Around his farm there was plenty of
hard work, good management and economy, and these bore
the fruits of thrift and prosperity.
That there was a vagrant thread of weakness mingled
with the tough fiber of his nature only proves that he was hu
man. Total abstinence was not a virtue common among the
pioneers. In common with a majority of the older genera
tion he drank, occasionally to excess. But these lapses were
far apart and among the men of his generation excited no sur
prise and provoked no comment.
Mr. Burge was a widower when I first knew him and his
eldest daughter Nancy managed his household. She never
married, but devoted her life to the task of caring for her
aged father and her younger brothers and sisters. Immolat
ing self upon the altar of duty, she devoted the best energies
of her life to those she loved. If in her youth there came to
her rose colored dreams of a happy future, with home, hus
band, children ; of little arms about her neck and little lips
lisping the sacred name of "mother," she, with noble reso
lution, turned steadfastly away from the alluriug vision, eon-
tent to live her life ministering to the happiness of others.
Only a woman can do these things. Men are too weak and
selfish to ever attempt them.

John and George married, reared families,and prospered.
They both own fine farms in the old neighborhood and are
model citizens in every sense of the word.
Three daughters* Mary, Martha, and Catherine, married
and moved away from the old neighborhood. Three boys,
Calvin, Richard, and Columbus, died in early manhood.
Calvin enlisted in the Confederate service and died during
the war. When but a child Richard suffered a spinal injury which
left him a cripple for Hfe. As a boy I was strongly attract
ed by this manly little man. He had a bright mind and al
though he suffered much, he bore it all with uncomplaining
patience, was always cheerful and kind. While nature had
implanted in his heart a longing to engage in boyish sports, a
cruel fate had denied to him the physical power to gratify it.
There was something deeply pathetic in the way he would
linger about the play grorand at sehool, intense longing to join
in our rough sports pictured in bis eager face. Sometimes
the boys would insist upon Dick joining in a game of ball
and when he went to the bat the pitcher was sure to give him
"good balls." There Was a tacit understanding that Dick's
play was not subject to the usual rules of the game. When
he would make a strike, some lad would be ready to make the
run for him, and so in person and by proxy he was enabled
to take some part in our sports. Dick was a general favorite
among the crowd of husky boys who attended school at Cot
tonwood. While as a rule they were usually ready to fight
each other upon slight provocation there was scarcely one
who would not have fought for Dick.
After acquiring a good common school education Richard
taught one term of school,but the confinement did not agree with
him and wishing to be independent aud make his own way in
the world he engaged in raising sweet potato and other plants
and built up quite a lucrative trade in this line. He died
comparatively young.

Columbus was of a religious turn and after leaving pub
lie school entered McGee College where he prepared himself
for the ministry. He had a bright mind, a wealth of ner
vous energy, and had he lived would have made his mark in
the world, I was working for his father once soon after he
finished his collegiate work and he was working on his trial
sermon. I remember one rainy afternoon when in his
father's barn Columbus insisted upon trying that serman up
on me just to see how it would work. I was rather weak on
theology, but somehow the sermon seemed to be altogether
too mild and when Lum finished and asked me how I liked
it I told him that I thought that if he would "put a little
more hell into it, that it would fetch 'em" Lum laughed
heartily over this criticism and explained to me that hell wasn't
near as hot as it was painted by the old time preachers. I
did not take kindly to the modified form of hell and we are
gued long and earnestly upon the question. I clung tena
ciously to the idea of the old fashioned etereal-bonfire-worm-
dieth-not-world-without-ecd sort of a hell, but Lum said that
the true meaning of the Greek and Hebrew words did not
carry with them the idea of such a hell. Lum had carried the
discussion beyond my depth and as I could not swin in
theological seas, I was silenced but not convinced.
A sketch of the old neighborhood where I was born
would be incomplete without some mention of
THE HAMBLINS.
I have no data concerning this family. I remember Vin
cent Hamblin as a quiet, kind and inoffensive old man, a good
neighbor, and a man who attended strictly to his own busi
ness, and when he passed on, left no enemy behind. He had
two sons, Presley' and Simeon. If there were any other chil
dren I did not know them. Press was inclined to take the
world easy and to let every day provide for itself. If the
day also provided for him he was happy, if not he was con-

tent to wait for another day. He had a large family of chil
dren for whom he made an indifferent support. His one accom
plishment was his ability to play the fiddle. During the
winter season his services were frequently in demand at
dances. Press was usually ready to go upon short notice,
and when asked as to his charges his invariable reply was,
"A sheep a night, boys." The price of mutton might fluctu
ate but the fiddler's price was fixed and never varied. A
sheep was a sheep to Press ; whether it cost one dollar or five
made no difference to him.
Simeon died during the present year near the old home
stead where he was reared. His father was a mild man and not
given to boasting, but he used to declare with pardonable
parental pride that "my son Simeon can do two men's work."
Simeon Hamblin was a natural mechanic. Some forty years
ago he rigged up a turning lathe and made a splendid article
of split bottomed hickory chairs. During the war there was
a demand for cane mills and he met this demand by manu
facturing mills entirely of wood that answered the purpose
and really did very good work. When one of these mills
was in operation everbody for miles around knew it, for it
would screech and groan and make the welkin ring with its
diabolical discord.
Vincent Hamblin lived to be very old. During the last
few years of his life his mind became so impaired that it was
necessary for some one to constantly watch over his move
ments. One day he eluded the vigilance of the family and
wandered away. As soon as his absence was noticed a vig
orous search was instituted for him by the family, and fail
ing to find him the neighbors were notified and for days the
unavailing and dishearting search went on. Finally when
the search was practically abandoned his body was discov
ered near Jamesport, some three miles from his home. To
the finite mind it all seemed so pitiful that this old man should
thus die, far from home, kindred, friends, with no minister-

ing hand to soothe the agonies of his final hour. But nature's
laws know no change, and its fell decrees fall impartially up
on all; and unknowing infancy and imbecile age, as well as
the knowing and the strong must obey.

GABRIEL LOUIS BALLINGER
For the main facts in the following sketch of Gabriel L.
Bailinger, the writer is indebted to his eldest son, Capt. John
Bailinger, who was himself for nearly half a century a citizen
of Daviess county and for many years a prominent factor in
its affairs. Gabriel L. Bailinger was born in Knox county, Ky., July
18th, 1800. He was the second son of Col. John Bailinger
and his mother was a sisrer of General William Jennings,
who lived near Lancaster, Ky. Col. John Bailinger died at
Baton Rouge, La,, about the close of the war 1812. He was
in command of the American forces at that place and after
peace was declared the news traveled so slowly that it did not
reach him for some months after the war closed. In the
meantime a British vessel undertook to enter the harbor, and
disregarding the warnings given, was fired upon by order of
Col. Bailinger. For this he was ordered to Washington City
to stand trial. He, however, was never tried and died a short
time afterwards. Col. Bailinger was a widower at the time
of his death and he left surviving him three little boys,
Frank, Gabriel L. and Jem ings. An old negro body servant
took the little fellows under his protection and by some means
conveyed them to their grandmother, who lived in Garrard
county, Ky. Here they grew to manhood, each receiving a
fairly good education Frank, the eldest, was of a studious
turn of mind, took up the study of law, became a successful

lawyer, settled in Lee county, Iowa, where he was elected
circuit judge, which position he held for many years. Ga
briel and Jennings were men of action, and love of adventure,
perhaps as much as a desire for gain, caused them to engage
in the business of transporting the products of Central Ken
tucky to New Orleans by means of flat boats. These flat
boats, or, as they were more commonly called, "Broad
Horns," were about 100 feet in length, 20 feet wide and 6
feet deep. They would carry 1200 barrels of flour or 800
barrels of whiskey.
Gabriel did not "follow the river traffic long, but led by
his adventurous spirit to seek new fields and travel unknown
paths, he organized a band of traders and started f or > old
SantaFe. This was: in 1825, and so far as the writer is in
formed this was among the first, if not the initial expedition
of this kind that ever traversed what was afterwards known as ,
the • Santa Fe Trail. When they passed beyond the borders of
Missouri they left civilization behind. They- knew the-gener-
al direction inwMcb they desired to travel and were guided
on their course by the compass and the buffalo trails; which
usually led from one watering place to another and guided
them to -safe and shallow crossings of the treacherous streams.
Through an unknown country, infected with roving bands of
hostilef Indians, the little band of sturdy adventurers kept ¦
steadily on. They met with obstacles, but their patience and
perseverance overeame them. They bore their trials with
fortitude and met each new danger with the eourag* of men
who know thai while ' 'Cowards die many deaths, the brave
man diesibut once." Thev slept each night as the soldier
sleeps upos the field of battle, and reveille awoke them to a
renewal of the struggle. Triumphing over all difficulties,
they at last readied their destination and trafficked their
goods for mules to the number of about 500. < These they
drove back to the states,' reaching St. Louis without any swi
ous misfortune: Here an incident occurred : that illustrates
the daredevil spirit of these men. The owner of the ferry

thought he saw a chance to makesome profit in his business
and asked what the traders deemed an exorbitant price for
ferrying the mules across the Mississippi. While the dicker
ing was going on, Bailinger was sitting on his mule looking
at the river and evidently feeling thai they were wasting their
timein arguing with the obdurate ferryman, he suddenly
turned to his companions with a gesture of impatience and
said, "Boys, our tmules have swum every stream between here
and Senta Fe, and I believe they can swim this one. They
will follow wherever I lead and I know that if my mule can
swim half way across that river, I can swim the balance of
the: way." This reckless, suggestion was at once acted upon,
and; the entire herd swam the Mississippi without: the loss of
a mule. Upon his return to- Kentucky he i married Josephine B.
Jennings,; Jan., 1st, 1826, and soon, afterwards: moved to Ful
ton, Callaway county,. Mo. In- 1830 an Indian outbreak oc
curred along the northern frontier of thestate and Bailinger
led a detatchment of cavalry from Callaway county and par
ticipated in a number .of engagements with ; the Indians, In
one of these fights he had the good fortune to capture Big
Neck Jim, a noted Indian chief and a much wanted savage.
Returning from this expeditionin a badly crippled , condition he
removed .hia family backi to-Kenfeacky aud;settled in Williams
burg, where he served as circuit and couLty clerk for many
years. He was an ardent admirer of Henry Clay and took an
active part during the presidential campaign,in which Clay and
Polk were rival candidates, and stumped Southern Ken
tucky and Northern Tennessee for Mr. Clay. In common
with Clay and many others of that time, he believed that
gradual emancipation offered the wisest, most just and equi
table solution of the problem of negro slavery.
In 1841, he united with the Christian church and into
this new field of action he brought the same devotion, the
same intensity of purpose that had ever marked his action in
all his undertakings. He was a man who could do things ;

and when a thing needed doing he was not the man to stand
around and wait for someone else. If there was no one else
to preach, why, he could preach and he did ; not once, but
many times. His sermons are said to have been argumenta
tive, eloquent and forceful, but above all, he believed in the
truth of the good news that he so earnestly procl aimed, and
behind his words was the potential force of conviction.
In 1845, M r. Bailinger moved back to Missouri and set
tled in this county on what is known as the "Cold Springs"
farm in Jackson township. Here with his wonted zeal in
promoting the general welfare, he passed several quiet, peace
ful and happy years, but once more the fever for adventure
seized him, and on May 6th, 1850, he preached in the old log
school house, and at the close of his sermon bade his friends
farewell and a few days later saw him on his way overland
to California. He reached his destination safely, but he had
been there but a short time when he was stricken with a vio
lent illness, and in January, 1851, he died at the home of his
old time friend, Dr. Lennox. Thus at the early age of 51
years this brave spirit passed the doorp that open but one way
into the larger life. A short life? Perhaps. It depends on
how it is lived ; for life is not made up of mere lengths of
days, and months, and years, but what we crowd into it, and
measured by all that he had loved, joyed, suffered, and
wrought, Gabriel L. Bailinger lived a long time.

In the primitive settlement the family was the economic
unit. Each family for a time provided for its own necessities
and was therefore independent of every other family. But it
was a poor sort of independence, purchased as it was at the
price of toil, hardships and many privations. Many of these
pioneers had come from the older states, where they had en
joyed many of the comforts and some of the luxuries of civil
ization. The pioneer could be pardoned, therefore, if there
were times when amidst his squalid surroundings he looked
backward and longed for the "flesh pots of Egypt "
But with the influx of emigration there came artisans,
skilled laborers, who were anxious to barter their handiwork
for commodities of various kinds. Among the skilled labor
ers, the blacksmith took high rank in the primitive communi
ty, as his services were more often in demand and of greater
necessity than those of any other trade. In this class we may
rank
SAMUEL K. DINSMORE.
Mr. Dinsmore was born in Greene councy, Tennessee,
September 9th, 1811. At the age of twenty-one he left home
and went to Laurel county, Kentucky, and at the;little village
of London, in that state, he learned the blacksmith trade, a
trade which his father before him had followed. He was mar
ried October 25th, 1842, to Miss Martha A. Blakely. Six
years later they decided to try their fortunes farther west,
and September 28th, 1848, they landed in Daviess county.
Mr. Dinsmore at once took a claim and began the erection of

a cabin, and the following spring found them at home to their
friends in a brand new home of their own. The spot chosen
was on high rolling land in a beautiful glade near Cotton
wood creek. A short time before her death, which occurred
but a few years ago, Mrs. Dinsmore, while visiting at the
writer's home, told of her first visit to that new home. It
was upon a Saturday afternoon that her husband reported the
new house finished and they drove over to see it. They drove
across the prairie that stretched away for miles and the tall
blue stem grass was stirred by a gentle breeze into undulat
ing billows of an emerald sea and decorated with an endless
variety of flowers of variegated hues. Down along the creek
the trees were in full leaf and in the shady coverts the birds
were singing their songs of joy, for thev, too, were building
homes and were happy. But yonder in the distance, bright
est spot in all the landscape, stands the little cabin that is to
be to them a habitation and a home. For them the sun
never shown more brightly, nor did the skies ever look so
serenely blue as on that Saturday afternoon. And why not?
It was the springtime of life as well as of the year.
Here they lived and wrought, reared their family of ten
children and prospered.
In appearance, Samuel K. Dinsmore was tall, spare and
straight as an Indian. Large boned, sinewy, rather than
muscular, he had that wiry strength and power of endurance
that made him tireless either on foot or in ihe saddle. He
walked with a long, 'easy stride, with leg well bent at the
knee as is the habit of men when used to uneven surfaces.
Square jawed, mouth large, teeth small and even, eyes blue
and overhung by bushy eyebrows, hair thick and inclined to
bristle. His temper was not angelic and in the heat of pas
sion he was liable to do rash things rather than truly brave
ones. There was nothing negative about the man. A thing
to him was either right or wrong. There was no room for
compromise, no middle ground. If he was your friend you
knew it. If your enemy he was not backward about letting

you know that too. He rarely forgot an insult or forgave an
injury He had his own code of ethics by which he measured
his own acts and those of other men. If a man was honest
and truthful and paid his debts promptly, he was good
enough. The man who failed to measure up to this standard
need not expect any favors from him. I was at his shop one
morning when a neighbor drove up and hitching his team
came into the shop and bade Dinsmore "good morning."
Dinsmore gave him one quick glance and his jaws came to
gether like a steel trap and the sparks flew a little faster from
the piece of iron that he was hammering, but he made no re
sponse. The man stood ar >und for a while and finally told
Dinsmore that he ha 1 come to buy some seed corn. Then
Dinsmore's wrath burst its channels and he poured out such
a torrent of abuse upon that man that it fairly drowned him.
There had been some misunderstanding between them and
the man had either forgotten or did not choose to remember
it, but if he thought to find Dinsmore in the same fix, he
soon discovered his error. Just as the man was leaving an
old darkey drove up upon the same errand, but said that he
had no money and would Mr. Dinsmore be so kind as to
credit him. "Yes," said Dinsmore, "you are honest if you
are black, and you can get what corn you need and pay for it
when you can. Go to the crib and help yourself."
Dinsmore worked hard and allowed himself but few
pleasures in life. Hunting and fishing were the only
pastimes in which he ever indulged and these only at times
when it did not interfere with his work. He kept a pack of
hounds and found his chief pleasure in following the chase.
Quick tempered and sensitive, easily offended and slow to
forgive a real or fancied wrong, he was usually at cross pur
poses with most of his neighbors. It does not follow from
this that Dinsmore was a bad man, for he was not ; but un
fortunately, he would often do or say things in the heat of
passion which he would doubtless soon sincerely regret, but
he was stubborn and unyielding and would allow himself to

be misunderstood and disliked rather than make overtures
for peace. Sometimes I think that there are men of this type
who enjoy being miserable and who, should they find them
selves at peace with all the world and nothing to hate, would
be decidedly uncomfortable. The following incident illus
trates the almost childish petulance of this man at times, and
of how one man evened the score with him : The lands of A.
L. Martin and Dinsmore joined ; they had fallen out and a re
sult of their misunderstanding was a "Devil's Lane" be
tween the premises. A Devil's Lane is one which is too nar
row to turn a wagon in or for one wagon to pass another.
One day Dinsmore saw Nath Snider enter this lane driving a
wagon and not feeling friendly towards Snider, he intercept
ed him and ordered him to go back. Snider tried to reason
the case, said he could uot turn around as the lane was too
narrow and tried to prevail on Dinsmore to let him pass.
But Dinsmore was inexorable and Snider was compelled to
lay down the fence on Martin's side of the lane and drive in
to the field, turn around and go back. That was the first
act, but the incident was not closed Snider went home and
"nursed his wrath to keep it warm." A few days later, per
haps on a Saturday afternoon, Dinsmore mounted his favorite
riding mare, "Kit," and started for Grand River to fish.
His favorite resort was a place known then as the "high
banks," and in order to reach this point on the river his
nearest route led through a narrow lane that crossed Snider's
land. When he arrived at this lane Dinsmore, without hesi
tation, entered it, but when about midway he was suddenly
startled by a command to halt. On glancing up he found
himself looking into a double barreled shotgun and the man
behind the gun was Nath Snider, and when Snider ordered
him to "go back," Dinsmore took him at his word and went.
Dinsmore was so neatly trapped and the tables so completely
turned that I think he rather enjoyed the situation. Besides
it was his own medicine and he could not be heard to eom-
plain even if it was a trifle bitter.

Dinsmore kept the worst side of his character on exhibi
tion. I have reason to know that he was kind hearted and a
man of generous impulses when rightly approached. He was
one of the truest friends I ever had. He helped me when I
was helpless and befriended me when I was well nigh friend
less. He loaned me a yoke of cattle to break the ground and
a horse ("Peddler" by name) with which to cultivate the
first corn crop that I ever raised. I was but eleven years old
at the time and my experiences with that yoke of cattle and
old Peddler would furnish material for a separate story.
As a blacksmith, Dinsmore was not an expert. His work
was rough, but strong and honestly done. He could shoe a
horse as well as anybody and he could point a plow so that it
would run fairly well and he could "upset" an axe and tem
per the steel somewhat uncertainly and do many other things
fairly well. Considering the tools and material with which
he had to work, the results were perhaps all that could be
reasonably expected.
Mr. Dinsmore died at Eldorado Springs, Ark., Oct. 12th,
1880, in the seventieth year of his age. He left a consider
able estate in money and lands as the result of his life's la
bors.

JENNINGS BALLINGER.

JENNINGS BALLINGER.
Jennings Bailinger was the third and youngest son of
Col. John Bailinger. His ancestry has been given in the preced
ing sketch of his brother, Gabriel L. , and it will not be re
peated here. The world cares little as to whom or what a
man's ancestors were. It asks "what has the man done that
he claims our notice." And the world is right. The man who
shines only in the reflected light of ancestral virtues has
little to commend him to the favorable consideration of his
fellow men. Jennings Bailinger made no claim to virtues
that he did not possess, asked the world for nothing that he
had not justly earned.
Born in Garrard county, Kentucky, February 2nd, 1804,
orphaned at an early age and thrown upon his own resources,
he developed that sturdy self-reliance that comes to those who
fight the battle of life, knowing that there is no one at their
back to help them should they fail. Nature was certainly in
n generous mood when she endowed Jennings Bailinger. Six
feet in height, weighing 225 pounds and not a surplus pound
of flesh, — just bone and muscle, — broad|shoulders,surmounted
by a rather large and well shaped head, he was a picture of
physical perfection. His features were rugged rather than
handsome, mouth large, nose prominent, eyes blue and as
changeful in their expression as the skies of an April day, for
they would grow dim with tears at the sight, of suffering or
blaze with the light of battle at an affront

In early life Bailinger worked in a printing office in
Frankfort, Ky. I do not know what degree of proficiency he
attained, but he probably learned to distinguish an em quad
from a shooting stick, to tell the difference between printer's
pie and the boarding house article, and to not mistake>n ink
roller for the office towel However he reformed while he
was yet young and engaged with his brother in the river traf
fic. He followed the river for many years, guiding the desti
nies of many a Broad Horn on its long and perilous journey
to New Orleans. From the masters of the Broad Horns were
graduated many of the best steamboat pilots on the river.
The transition was easy and natural, for the man in charge of
a flat boat was compelled to know the river with all its treach
erous, schutes, bars and sawyers as thoroughly as a child
knows its primer.
August 20th, 1828, Jennings Bailinger was united in
marriage with Angeline Jennings, a daughter of General Wm.
Jennings. Nine children were born to them, three of whom
are still living. After leaving the river, he was employed for
a number of years as superintendent of what was known as
Goose Creek salt works, located in Clay county, Ky. One
day while thus employed he was making his usual rounds and
came to where a wagon from the mountains of East Tennessee
was being loaded with salt. Attracted by the unusual size of
the sacks, he stopped and asked the man from the hill coun
try how much the sack held and how they managed to get
them into a wagon. "The sack holds eight bushels and as
for loading them, why, just put 'em in like we do the others."
To show that he could do a pretty good job of lifting, Bailin
ger proffered to help the man load the big sack. Bailinger
seized one end of the sack with both hands, while the Ten-
nesseean took the other end with one hand and lifted the
enormous weight with apparent ease. Grandfather, in tell
ing this story, would add, "And I just went off and sat down
on a log and looked at that man."
In 1845, or about that time, Abner Baker, the dissolute

son of a wealthy planter, shot and killed his brother-in-law,
Dr. Daniel Bates. The killing was unprovoked and coward
ly, as Bates had always been a friend to the young scape
grace. Baker's father and several of his brothers publicly
announced that they would kill any lawyer who should at
tempt to prosecute the murderer. Silas Woodson, after
wards governor of Missouri, but then a struggling young at
torney, was employed and prosecuted Baker so vigorously
that he was convicted and sentenced to be hung. The Bakers
had a large following and their attitude became so threaten
ing that Gov. Owsley ordered out several companies of state
militia to guard the jail and Bailinger was put in command
of one of these companies. One day Baker's negro servant
started to leave the jail, when grandfather stopped him and a
thorough search revealed a note written by Baker and con
cealed under the negro's arm. Baker had no ink but had
pricked his arm with a pin and had used his blood with Which
to write the note, which gave minute information to hie
friends as to how and when to make the attempt to rescue him.
Baker was strongly guarded until the day set for his execu
tion when he was taken from jail and publicly hanged. Out
of this incident grew a feud that has resulted in the loss of
many lives and extends even to this day.
In 1850 Jennings Bahinger settled in this county and for
many years took an active interest in all that pertained to the
common welfare. Generous and unselfish h»> gave his time
and whatever of talent he may have had to the betterment of
existing conditions. He might truly have said with Terence ;
"I am a man, all that concerns my fellow men is my con
cern." He cared little for popularity, was too outspoken to have
been successful as a politician and so far as I know never ran for
office. He was loyal to his friends and to speak ill of one of
them in his presence was to have the insinuation promptly
resented as though it were a personal affront. He believed
in the private settlement of personal grievances and endorsed

the code duello as a speedy and sure way of settling private
differences. During a heated political campaign in Kentucky,
Judge Lusk, a candidate for congress, in the course of a pub
lic address, indulged in some remarks derogatory to the char
acter of the opposing candidate, who was not present. In his
absence grandfather publicly challenged the judge in behalf
of his absent friend. As the challenged party, the choice of
weapons and conditions belonged to the judge, and he in ac
cepting the challenge chose bowie knives, the antagonists to
be blindfolded and fight in a darkened room, each holding
the corner of a handkerchief The conditions were made so
bruial that the judge doubtless thought that no sane man
would accept them, but they were, and without unnecessary
delay the parties were face to face, armed and blindfolded and
waiting for the word. As his antagonist showed no signs of
weakening, the judge asked what sort of an apology would be
satisfactory. "The apology must be as broad as the offense,"
came the prompt reply.
"Which means that it must be publicly made," said the
judge. "Exactly, sir."
The judge hesitated a moment, then stepping out upon the
balcony of the hotel addressed an ample apology to hundreds
of men, who were anxiously awaiting the result of the ex
pected encounter.
After settling in this county, Jennings Bailinger en
gaged in farming and followed that occupation during the re
mainder of his life. He was methodical and systematic in all
that he did. He was a generous provider for his family and
beyond that cared nothing for wealth. In the fields his im
mense strength and tireless energy made it difficult for or
dinary men to keep pace with him when at work ; but while
he was a hard worker, he yet found time to indulge his
passion for books. He had read much of the best literature
of his day and as his mind was quick to comprehend and his
memory tenacious, he had acquired a vast fund of general in
formation. Among the prose writers, Macaulay, Addison and

Washington Irving were his favorites. In poetry and dra
matic composition Shakespeare held first place, while Burns.
Moore, Young, Byron and Keats were his familiar friends,
In fiction, I think that Smollet must have attracted him, for
he often referred to Roderick Random, Perigrine Pickle,
Ferdinand Countfathom and other ridiculous names given by
Smollet to his characters, and it always seemed like there
was to him something irresistibly humorous in the bare men
tion of these names.
In 1856 his wife died, and shortly after this he sold his
farm and moved to Illinois, settling upon a beautiful farm in
Hancock county, near the Mississippi river and just below
the historic old town of Nauvoo About this time my
father died, leaving mother with two little children to care
for. In this crisis grandfather generously took us to live
with him, and for many years I was the constant companion
of this passionate, hot headed, yet kind and generous hearted
man. The title to the farm which grandfather bought had just
been perfected by a long and tedious suit in equity, and much
ill feeling had been engendered between the litigants, and al
though grandfather was not a party to the suit, and not even
acquainted with them, the defeated party transferred a part
of his ill will to him when he went into possession under a
deed from the legal owner. Shortly after movir g on this
farm grandfather was informed that an effort would be made
to forcibly evict him by a mob composed of the friends of the
unsuccessful claimant. This news aroused all the fighting
blood in the old gentleman and he began to make prepara
tions for war. Grandfather was practically a stranger in the
neighborhood at that time. Had such a danger menaced him
in Kentucky it would have been different ; for like Donald
Dhee, he might have sounded his pibroch from some lonely
crag of his native mountains, and the clan would have
"Come as the winds come,
When forests are rended ;
Come as the waves come,
When navies are stranded."
But here he was alone, save for one friend. But that friend
happened to be Randolph Herndon, an old Kentuckygacquaint-
ance who lived near by, and who, upon hearing of the threat
ened attack, came at once to volunteer his services. Evening
found the two sitting on the porch, their guns in easy reach,
calmly waiting for the mob. About sundown ten or a dozen

lusty fellows were seen coming down the road, and they were
making a good deal of noise. Grandfather arose, picked up
his gun, and Herndon did the same, but grandfather restrained
him with a gesture, saying,
"I think that I can take care of those fellows alone, but
if anything should happen to me I want you to stay here and
defend the children."
"With my life." was Herndon's laconic and grim reply.
With that grandfather turned and started toward the gate.
The baleful light of battle was in his eyes and he walked like
a soldier stepping to the time of martial music ; the war god
was singing in his heart, and the fighting blood of his ances
tors was running rough through his veins. The leader of the
mob without waiting to come to the gate, started to climb the
fence, and had put one leg over when grandfather brought
his gun to his shoulder and quietly remarked, "Just put the
other leg over and you are a dead man."
The intruder withdrew to his own side of the fence and
started to parley.
"Not a word," said the irate old gentleman, "take your
crowd and get away from here or somebody will get hurt and
that mighty quick." They did not stand upon the order
of their going, but went, and no one ever agaiu disputed his
right of possession.
But if he possessed that purely physical courage that
causes men to do rash things inder the influence of excite
ment, he also possessed that other sort of courage, or forti
tude, call it what you will, that can endure and make no sign.
Once when bitten by a rabid dog I saw him bare his arm that
had been lacerated by the animal's teeth, and when an attend
ant applied a red hot bar of iron to cauterize the v ound he
bore the terrible torture for several moments without moving
a muscle. ,
Although he was not a politician in the sense of being
an office seeker, he yet took a keen and active interest in pub
lic affairs. He had been a Whig, and an .ardent admirer of
Henry Clay, but when the long drawn out quarrel between
the North and South reached its culminating point 'n the Lin
coln-Douglass campaign of 1860, he gave his influence and
his vote for Mr. Lincoln. Every sympathy of his nature, ev-
e>y fiber of his heartstrings yearned for the people of the
South, but he believed that slavery and secession were wrong
and that the life of the nation as well as the general welfare

of the people depended upon the preservation of the union.
Many times did he quote with approval that epigrammic utter
ance of Rufus Oh oate :
"I join myself to no party that does not carry the flag
and keep step to the music of the Union."
A rather amusing incident occurred during the campaign
of 1860 in which grandfather unwittingly figured. One eve
ning we had just come from the field and were watering the
horses when a stranger drove up in a bugery aud asked if he
might water his team. He was invited to "drive in" which
he did, and while his horses drank he told us that he was the
Democratic candidate for congress for that district and was
on his way to Nauvoo where he was billed to speak that night.
Then he added, "I understand that some old clodhopper m
this neighborhood proposes to try to answer me."
"Your information is correct" said the old gentleman,
"and unless you have more to say than I think you have, the
'old clodhopper' will not only 'tr\ ' but will succeed in an
swering you."
After supper we drove into town to attend the meeting.
I have a confused memory of a vast crowd, a torchlight pro
cession, bands playing and men shouting, and then we were
in the hall and grandfather was speaking, and he spoke on
and on, and it seemed a long time tb the sleepy boy until we
were out and on the road home.
He made no profession of religion until late in life, but
like old man Jucklin, he believed the Bible "from kiver to
kiver," and never referred to it except in a spirit of reverence.
Under extreme provocation he would sometimes swear1, but
this privilege was never extended to others. One day one of
the hands was swearing at his team, and grandfather stopped
him. "Young man," said he, "I want \ou to remember that
I reserve the right to do all the swearing that is necessary to
be done on these premises."
The last years of his life were clouded by a great sorrow,
but he bore his burden bravely and alone. And yet, "Though
there was a cloud over his spirit, there was none before his
face." He greeted his friends as cheerfully as of yore, and
hiding his sorrow in his heart, he turned a smiling face to
the world. While for the greater part of his life he was not
"a together" he was "almost a Christian," for he "visi edthe
widow and the fatherless in their afflictions, and kept himself
unspotted from the world." And so for more than seventy

years this brave and kindly hearted man walked the earth, liv
ing a clean, honest and usefnl life. At last grown weary of
his burden he longed for rest, and on June 23rd, 1874, he
slept, and was buried in the old Jordin graveyard, where his
wife and three of his children rest.

JONATHAN OXFORD.
Born in Bunkum county, N. C, in the year 1806, where
he grew to manhood. In 1813 he moved to Clay county,
Kentucky, where he met and married Elizabeth Spurlock.
Soon after their marriage they determined to try their for
tunes in the West and in 1835 said good-by to their old Ken
tucky home and started for the frontier to make for them
selves and their children a habitation and a home in the
wilds of North Missouri.
He settled in what is now Jackson township. He could
not have acquired anything more than "squatters' rights"
to land in this county at that time, as the lands of Daviess
county were not surveyed until 1837 and were not open for
entry until 1839. Here he built a comfortable log house af
ter the approved pattern of those days, that is, two square
rooms with an "entry" between and a huge fire place at
either end. One end was used as a kitchen and dining room,
the other was the sitting room, parlor and bedroom. The pio
neer learned to economize space in the interior arrangements
of his dwelling. A high post bedstead usually concealed a
trundled bed, where the little folks could be comfortably
stowed away while the big boys could sleep in the loft. The
house furnishings were confined to articles of utility. There
was no room for luxury in the log cabins of our fathers. The
cooking was done in huge ovens and pots by the fireplace,
and what the bill of fare lacked in variety, it made up foi in
quantity. The family clothing was essentially a home pro-

duct. The cloih, woven on rudely constructed looms, was of
"sheep's wool and dye stuff," the garments cut by ear and
sometimes fearfully and wonderfully made.
In such a home — a home above the average in point of
homely comfort at the time — Mr. Oxford and his wife
reared their family of nine children, six boys and three girls.
It was a happy and contented home. Here the stranger could
find shelter, the weary could rest and the hungry be fed with
out money and without price. The Yankee brought us some
new ideas and improved methods, but nobody in this county
had ever paid for a meal's victuals at a farm house or to have
a grave dug until he came.
Surrounded by wife and children, honored and respected
by his friends for his many sterling qualities, he had earned
the right to spend the evening of his life in the quiet enjoy
ment of the fruits of his labors. But fate ordained it other
wise. The Civil war came on and Mr. Oxford, bike many
others, was face to face with the conflict between duty to his
country and his sympathy for his friends who were nearly all
in the Confederate army. Bold and independent by nature,
he openly avowed his sympathy for the South without stop
ping to consider the consequences. He had never been
schooled in the art of concealment and he would have been a
hypocrite in his own eyes had he not spoken his true senti
ments. I remember of his coming to our house one day dur
ing the war. He had been suspected of disloyalty and had
been arrested and taken to Breckenridge, where, after a short
detention, he was paroled and ordered to report again in
thirty days. He was in a towering passion over the indigni
ty of his arrest, and gave such free expression to his feelings
of indignation that mother cautioned him against such intem
perate expressions and counselled patience, forbearance and
moderation. The old man was walking the floor ; at the door
he turned and with face red with suppressed passion he said,
"Mrs. Jordin, you are right. I oughtn't to talk so much, but
sometimes I git so full that, by gracious, if I couldn't talk I
think I would bust."

A few nights afterwards, on the 3rd of April, 1863, a com
pany of armed men rode up to his house at about 2 o'clock in
the morning. Mr. Oxford was aroused and informed that he
must go to Breckenridge to answer his parole. Oxford de
murred to this, as his parole had about 15 days yet to run,
but he was peremptorily ordered to get ready to go at once.
Mr. Oxford seemed to have a sort of premonition that he was
starting upon his last earthly journey, for he awakened his
wife and children and bade them good-bye. Then turning to
his captors, he told them he was ready and they rode away
into the night. Next morning his lifeless body, riddled with
bullets, was found lying by the roadside, near the old Clear
Creek church. Thus fell by the hands of violence this stur
dy old pioneer and so far as the writer knows the identity of
his murderers is still unknown.
Of his nine children, Lockey, the eldest daughter, Jacob
and John, the two eldest sons, are dead. Levi and Wm. R.
never married and are keeping bachelors' hall near the old
homestead. Elizabeth Ellis lives on the old home place,
while Isaac J., Henry C. and Nancy Blakely, the remaining
children, all live in the old neighborhood.
The first school that I ever attended was taught by the
above mentioned, John Oxford, in what was known as the
Cottonwood school house. As this school house was the
writer's alma mater, and also typical of the seats of learning
in the early days, a brief description will probably not be
out of place. Built of hewed logs, the interstices chinked
and daubed with mortar, lighted by two small windows and
thoroughly ventilated through various cracks where the mor
tar had fallen out from between the logs. The seats were
puncheons, held up by pins driven in holes bored with a two
inch auger. These seats had no back rests and were so high
that none but the larger children could touch the floor with
their feet when sitting down. The boys and girls were seat
ed upon opposite sides of the house. A stove, an armfull of
switches of various lengths and degrees of toughness and a
water bucket and gourd completed the furnishings of the

house. Drinking water was usually obtained at some pool
along Cottonwood branch, but sometimes these shallow pools
froze to the bottom and then we were forced to go to Dins
more' s well, something like a half mile distant. There was
usually a three months' term of school, beginning the first of
December. The curriculum of study embraced reading, spell
ing and arithmetic in the regular course, while such studies
as geography and grammar were purely elective. As I re
member now, I managed to get as far as "compound num
bers" each successive winter until I was eighteen, when I
quit school. But I could spell every word in Webster's spell
ing book, and could read fairly well in the fourth reader, and
with these accomplishments I ceased my quest of knowledge
in the school room.
I recall but few incidents connected with my first term at
school. To get to the school house, I was compelled to cross
a stretch of open prairie where the grass was about as tall as
my head. We had a large black dog who went with me and
acted as bodyguard to protect me from the half wild cattle
that ranged the prairies at that time. At one time the teacher
whipped a whole bench full of scholars for some breach of
discipline. I do not think that all were guilty, but the old
time pedagogue took no chances. He would whip the whole
school rather than let the guilty one escape. Upon another
occasion a lot of us little tow heads, led by "Swatty" War
ren, set the prairie on fire and then there was something do
ing right away. I do not know how far that fire extended
before it was brought under control, but remember that about
thirty sheep and a mare and colt perished in the flames near
the school house.
The pedagogues who wielded the rod and guided the
intellectual development of the youth who came to slake their
thirst for knowledge at this intellectual fountain would be
sadly out of place in the sehool rooms of to-day. There were
Short, Hansard, Howell, Brown and Conklin who succeeded
each other through a series of years. Of these, Short,
Brown and Conklin were men of intellisj'pnce and fairly good

teachers. Hansard was an adventurer who blew in one win
ter, taught without a certificate, got his winter's board and
went away without asking for pay which he knew he could
not get. Howell was a cripple and formed a habit of sitting
astride a chair with his back to the fire and sleeping as sweet
ly as a babe in mother's arms. One afternoon Howell was
taking his usual nap when I accidentally found a musket cap
in my pocket. As I sat idly playing with the cap a happy
thought occurred to me. A great awakening in that school
house was an end to be desired and there in my hand lay the
means for bringing it about. I put the cap on the stove and
held my breath, but not for long. There was a deafening ex
plosion and Howell bounded into space, went over his chair
and knocked over a bench full of sleeply little girls, who
screamed in unison, and for a few minutes pandemonium
reigned. Howell got up rubbing his bruises and made a few
remarks that were more forcible than elegant, threatened to
whip the little girls for crying, tried to find the culprit,
failed, and perhaps never knew just what it was that awak
ened him.
Looking backward through the mists of intervening
years there come before my mental vision like dream pic
tures the dear remembered faces of my schoolmates of the
long ago. It seems but yesterday that light-hearted and
care-free we played, fought, hunted rabbits and incidentally
studied a little in and around the old log school house on the
banks of the [classic Cottonwood. I am standing again upon
the old playground and see them coining, singly or in groups,
from every point of the compass. Coming from the south
are the Dinsmores, Julia, Alice, Sallie and Lizzie, James,
John, William, Addison, Charles, Samuel and Elwood, car
rying a dinner basket packed with provender sufficient for a
small army. From farther away to the southwest, the Penis-
tons, Fannie and George, Anthony and Robert. Fannie was
one of the brightest pupils, and her cheerful and kindly dis
position made her a general favorite. I remember that she
loaned me the first novel that I ever read. Although I was

compelled to read if at night by fire light, sitting on the
hearth to get the benefit of the meager and imperfect bight,
I think it gave me more genuine thrills than any book that I
ever read.
But here come the Sniders, Mart and Tom and Henry —
the Warrens, John and Alex — the Martins, John and Mary —
from another direction the Birge children, Mary, Martha and
Kate, George Richard and Columbus, and the same road the
Faulkners, Martha and a sister whose name I have forgotten,
and George and KiDg Hiram. The last mentioned was the
hero of an amusing incident that completely upset the gravi
ty of the school one afternoon. We were playing around the
wood pile when some one discovered a mouse. We chased
the mouse for a while, but all at once it disappeared and we
were unable to find it. That afternoon while King Hiram
was sitting humped up on one of the tall benches at peace
with all the world, a boy sitting behind him noticed an un
usual looking lump on King's back and as he looked the
lump moved. The boy reached over and felt of it, grinned,
and whispered the startling intelligence into King's ear that
there was "a mouse up his back." King was a nervous little
fellow and the announcement almost drove him wild with
fright. Uttering a wild yell, he bounded around the room
like a rubber ball. The teacher grabbed him and tried to
find out what the trouble was, but King was too frightened
to talk and kept on yelling. The boy who had made the dis
covery finally made the teacher understand the situation and
the mouse was speedily released and the incident closed.
From the west came the Nichols children, Mary, Martha
and Hannah, John and Joseph, all good old fashioned names,
names which passing years have shown them worthy to bear.
John was a fat, chubby boy and an easy mark for Bill Dins
more when they were playing "Bull Pen."
It would take too long to name all who at one time and
another attended school at this place. There were the
Browns, Prices, Hamblins, Johnsons and a host of others,
for although the families were few, children were plentiful.
The pioneer was a proletaire, if nothing else.

THE KILLING OF WILLIAM CREWS.
It was during a debate in 1866, between Joseph Davis
and Charles H. Mansur, who afterwards represented his dis
trict in congress, that young William Crews was killed.
The debate was held in a grove near the old Clear Creek
church, and continued for several days. The debate was
concerning the doctrines of the Universalist church, Mansur
affirming and Davis denying. Both were young men at the
time, talented and well known in the community, and the de
bate excited considerable interest and attracted large crowds.
One day during this discussion, at the noon hour while the
people were eating dinner, Crews was talking to a group of
girls and eating his dinner. He was standing with his back
to a tree and facing the girls. While thus engaged, a man
approached and offered him an apple, which Crews laughing
ly accepted. This was the signal for which two men who were
luaking near.were waiting.and a moment later they approached
Crews from the rear with drawn revolvers and both fired at
close range. Miss Ann Weldon, one of the young ladies with
whom Crews was talking, saw the assassins a moment before
they fired, and divining their murderous intention, with a
warning cry to Crews, and with remarkable courage and
presence of mind, sprang forward and struck the pistol of one
of the men and it was discharged harmlessly in the air. The
other man, said to have been Broomfield, fired at close range,

and Crews fell dead. I was sitting in a wagon a short dis
tance away when the shooting occurred ; and with boyish curi
osity pushed my way through the crowd to where the dead
man lay. It was indeed a pitiful sight, for Crews was little
more than a boy. As I recall his features now I do not think
he could have been more than twenty. - The boyish face
which but a moment before had been wreathed in smiles and
mantling with the flush of his warm, young blood, was now
congealed by the icy hand of death. The war had just closed,
and in the death of this boy we saw one of the last ebulitions
of its aftermath of hate. The murderers mounted their horses
and rode away unmolested. So far as I know there was no
effort made to arrest them. Broomfield was afterwards
killed in Gallatin by Solomon Tomblin, against whom Broom
field had made threats. Tomblin tried to keep out of his way,
but finally made up his mind that either he or Broomfield
had to die,, and procuring a double barreled shotgun he went
in search of his enemy. While standing in Benton Miller's
store on tbe south side of the square, Tomblin saw Broomfield
leave the public square (Which was then enclosed by a fence) ¦
by the south gate and start across the street directly towards
the store from which Tomlin was watching him. The propri
etor of the store asked Tomblin to step outside, as he did not
wish to have a fight of this kind pulled off in his store. Tom
blin is said to have been crying at this time, but he immedi-
diately stepped out on the sidewalk in front of the store.
Broomfield was about half way across the street whem Tom
blin raised his gun, took deliberate aim, and fired both bar
rels. Broomfield stopped,1 steadied himself for a moment,
and then slowlysank to the ground, and a moment later was
dead. Tomblin fled,i more perhaps to escape the vengeance of
Broomfield's friends, than from fear of arrest.
The circumstances which led up to the killing of William
Crews as before naratedj takes us back to the beginning of
the Civil war. John Crews, the father of Williamt was I be-

lieve in the Southern army; at least he was in strong sympa
thy with the South and was compelled to leave home. Wil
liam at thai time1 was a lad of perhaps thirteen or fourteen
years, of a headstrong and impetuous disposition, and in
clined to do and Say many things calculated to make trouble
for himself and others. The boy needed the restrain
ing influence of his father, but the father, was away and
the boy was left to follow the bent of his own inclination.
His conduct was such as to attract the attention of the mili
tary authorities to him and he was arresced and takeii to
Breckenridge, Mo. Word was sent to his: father to come and
get his boy or to make some effort to control; I have heard
it said that the father gdt the word and sent a reply
from his hiding place that it would probably be as well
for the boy to keep him where hewas for a while. But there
being no serious charges against the boy he was released.
Later on during the war he was again arrested and taken to
Breckenridge. This time his mother becoming anxious about
him induced his brother, George Crews, and Thomas Peery to
attempt the rescue of Will. The mother visited her son in pris
on to make the final arrangements and acquaint William with
the pians of his friends The prisoners were taken out for a
walk every day attended by a small guard, and the plan was
for George Crews and Peery to secrete themselves near a
spring to which the daily walk of the prisoners led and at a
preconcerted signal William was to make a dash for liberty
and his brother and Peery was to cover his retreat, and hold
the guards in check until William could get away. It was a
dangerous and foolhardy undertaking at best, but in some
way the military authorities came into possession of the plans
for rescue and prepared to frustrate them. On the day agreed
upon the prisoners were taken for their walk as usual, but
the vigilance of the guard gave the prisoners no opportunity
to make the intended dash for liberty. As they neared the
spring Crews and Peery appeared upon the scene and rode

unsuspectingly into the ambucade that had, been prepared for
them by the soldiers, and both men were killed. The boy
witnessed the killing of his brother and friend and vowed to
avenge their deaths. The war closed and the boy, now al
most a man, did not forget, but remained constant to his
avowed purpose, and such was his reputation for reckless dar
ing that there was good reason to believe that he would exe
cute his threat at the first opportunity. It was therefore
doubtless on account of these threats that he was sought out
and murdered by men who had reason to fear him.
Although a large number of men went from this county
into the Southern army the county itself was at all times dur
ing the war under the control of the Federal government.
The only clash between opposing forces that would rise even
to the dignity of a skirmish was at or near old Di Ammon.
Jesse Clark whose father was a Presbyterian preacher
and one of the pioneers of Livingston county came into this
section from Mercer county where he was then living, and
having many friends and acquaintances in this and Living
ston counties, he organized a small company of volunteers for
the Rebel service. Clark represented to his friends here that
there were many adherents to the caufe of the South in Mer
cer and Schuyler counties, and that if a company could be
formed and invade those counties these men would flock to
their standard. The company was formed; that is, a few ad
venturous spirits were got together and started on this wild
goose chase. Among those who went were Dr. F. M. Davis,
Frank and Thomas Hicklin, Daniel and John Kessler, Joe
Kirk, William Darr, Charles Goben and others whose names
I am unable to give. They invaded Mercer, passed through
Schuyler, back fccross Harrison over into Worth and Gentry,
but the expected accession to their ranks did not materialize,
so the expedition turned and headed for Daviess county and
home. The original number augmented by some thirty or
forty recruits, nearly all of whom were unarmed, were met

near Di Amnion by a considerable force of Federal troops
under command of Capt. Woodrow.
A skirmish at once ensued ; about fifteen of the rebels,who
had guns,, held the union soldiers in check until their unarmed
companions could get away. Among those on the firing line
were the men before mentioned. It was their first baptism
in- the fire, and smoke of battle, but not a man flinched. A de
sultory fire was kept up by both parties until nightfall.
Charles Goben was the only, man hit on the Confederate side,
and in the darkness the little band became separated and he
was not missed until the next day, when it was found that
Goben andTbomas Hicklin hadbeen left behind. Hicklin was
unhurt, but his horse had given out and he wandered about
in the darkness and became lost. The next day he and Goben
were captured by the Federal-troops, After his capture Hick
lin was questioned about the fight, and as to whether or not he
had taken part in it. He admitted at once that he had.. Hewas
then asked to give the names of those who were with him. This
he politely but firmly declined to do. Threats and persua
sion : alike failed to move him and he remained steadfast in
his refusal to betray his comrades. At last he was given to
understand in unmistakeable language, that if he persisted in
his refusal to answer, his life would pay the forfeit. His
answer to this grim ultimatum was characteristic of the super
courage and unfalteringloyalty of the man: "Be not afriad
of them that kill the body,'.' said he, "and after, that have no
more that they can do, but I will forewarn you whom ye shall
fear: Fear him, which after he ha'h killed, hath power to
cast into hell; yea, I say to yoiiy Fear him." Thomas Hick
lin had been a devout student of the Bible and it was fitting
that the final answer that was to decide his fate was given in
the words of the Master. He was taken out. oc the prairiy
upon or near the present farm of Robert Johnson in Grand
River township, and there a platoon of soldiers were drawn
up and Hicklin was placed in position to receive their fire.
An attempt was made to blindfold him, but at his request
this was Lot done. And so it was with a courage that never
faltered and a firmness that the terrors of death could not
shake, this lo> al soul calmly met his fate. Truly, "Greater
love ha'h no man than this, that a man lay down his life for
his friends."
An incident that runs in lighter vein occurred along towards

the beginning of the war. Will Jordin was recruiting volun
teers for Price's army and perhaps a half dozen of them
started South. They had not gone far when they were sighted
by Capt. Mounts Nichols with a company of militia, who gave
chase at once. Jordin and his men kept their lead until
Grand river was reached. The river was frozen over and
there was some question about the ice being strong enough
tobear them and their horses. Jordin being a featherweight
and riding a small horse tried the ice first and goc across
safely. Next came Tom Bradshaw on a mule and the mule
skated across in good style. The others, encouraged by scat
tering fire from their pursuers, who were now within shooting
distance, made an attempt to cross, when a powerful horse
ridden by Ed McClung broke through the ice and stopped the
retreat. Jordin was the only man in the crowd that was armed
and seeing that it would be useless to attempt to rescue his com
panions turned reluctantly away and with Bradshaw continued
on their way. The only casualty in this engagement was the
wounding of Bradshaw's mule which was shot through the
ear. Bradshaw soon tired of soldiering and returned home
and afterwards served in the "Mackeral Brigade" as the
Home Guards were called, for a sufficient length of time to
entitle him to a pension, which he still lives to draw, with
more pleasure than he did his gun in the days of "61."
Although the Federal forces were in control of this part
of the state, men from the Southern army were almost con
stantly passing through the country, sometimes risking their
lives, or danger of capture and confinement in a mititary pris
on, in order to visit their homes and have a brief clandestine
visit with those near and dear to them. Again tome would
tire of army life and would make their way North where they
were unknown and thus escape the constant perils and hard
ships of a soldier's life. There were men who remained at
home who were in constant dread of these stragglers from the
Southern army lest they should find it convenient to stop long
enough to settle some old score or gratify some long meditat
ed revenge. While these fears may have been for the most
part groundless, those who entertained them did not "sleep
well o' nights." George Snider was one of those who ap
peared to be constantly haunted by a dread presentment of
some awful fate and he annoyed the military authorities no
little with baseless rumors of a lurking foe. One day John

Rhea and myself were gathering hazelnuts in a thicket near
what was then known as the "Lone Tree," when we saw Sni
der coming towards us. John had a little old double barreled
pistol and it was loaded, and he proposed that we hide and
scare Snider, to which I instantly agreed. Crouching in the
edge of the thicket we waited until Snider was within about
fifty yards when John called, "Halt." Snider looked wildly
in every direction, but did not stop. John yelled "Halt"
again and Snider put spurs to his hor?e and started. At this
juncture John discharged both barrels of the pistol which was
loaded with paper wads and Snider leaning low on his horse
drove his spurs into its flanks and whipping wildly with his
hat, hit the high places as he went towards Big Muddy bot
tom. We lingered about the place, gathering nuts and took
no notice of passing time until all at once we became aware
of the fact that a company of soldiers were bearing do wn up
on us. They had evidently seen us and it was no use to try
to hide. I was pretty badly scared and began to wish that we
had not been quite so funny. Rhea was some older, and I do
not think ever knew what it was to be afraid of anything in
his life. I think that he saw that I was frightened, as he
told me not to say anything when the soldiers came up and he
would do the talking. I readily agreed to this, and when the
soldiers came up and inquired if we had seen any men around
there John answered promptly that we had not.
"How long have you been here?" inquired a man who ap
peared to be in command of the squad.
"Pretty much all moaning," John replied
"Hear any shooting"
"No sir."
"Did you see Mr. Snider pass here?"
"I believe I did. Someone passed, but I did not pay
much attention, but I think it was him,"
"And you saw no Rebels ; heard no shooting?"
"No sir." — very positive.
The questioner turned in his saddle and looked at Snider
in a puzzled sort of a way and said: "Mr. Snider, there
seems to be some mistake. Are yOu sure this is the place?"
"I can't be mistaken," said Snider excitedly, "It was
right here and they fired on me. I tell you the woods is full
of Rebels." They moved on, went a short distance, examined the

ground^ for signs of a hostile force, but finding none we soon
saw them returning across the prairie to Gallatin.
Well, the war clouds rolled by and for forty years the
sunshine of peace and prosperity has been shining upon our
beloved country. The old wounds have healed and the Blue
and Gray can meet and hold in friendly grasp the hands that
made each other's scars. The only man who is not satisfied
with the result is the one who, while he was awful. mad; was
not quite mad enough to go to the front and fight it out.
For nearly a half century the people of the South have
been called'Rebels, when as a matter of fact the real rebels were
those of the North; The South, stood for the old order,, for
slavery because it was engrafted upon our institutions from
the beginning, grew and developed with them, was entrenched
behind organic law, upheld by courts of last resort, and de
fended and justified from the pulpit. It stood also, for state
rights, held that the constitution was a compact, entered into
voluntarily by and between sdvereign and independent states,
with the reserved right to nullify , any legislative enactment
of the general congress which might be considered subversive
of the rights- and interests of any sovereign state. The South
stood for these two things — -human slavery and the "rope of
sand' ' that' held together the union of states. Against both of
these things the North rebelled. Against slavery because it vwas
inherently wrong, and against the right of secession because it
was the weak link which by construction had been deftly Welded
into the constitutional chain, and however strong the chain
might be in its other parts, as a whole it could never be
stronger than its weakest link. The North rebelled and un
dertook the gigantic task of correcting these primal errors.
With the inauguration of Abraham Lincoln there was vir
tually a new government set up and in the, struggle that en
sued the noxious plant of huniany slavery that had struck its
roots to the very heart of the body politic was torn up and
cast away to wither and die, and the weak lkk of secession
was eliminated and the constitutional chain made strong in
all its parts.
The nation had been sick and nigh unto death with a dan
gerous malady. The skill of the statesman had failed to
bring relief and a final resort was had to the cruel surgery
of war. The patient came out of the operation weak and ex
hausted, but the organic trouble having been removed its re
covery was both rapid and complete.

LSEUT. COL. SAMUEL P. COX.

LIEUT. COL. SAMUEL P. COX.
The subject of this sketch was born in Williamsburg,
Whitley county, Kentucky, December 16th, 1828. In Sep
tember, 1839, he moved with his father, Levi Cox, to this
county and settled on what is now known as the Joshua Tye
place in the eastern part of the county. Here he spent his
youth, assisting his father in farm work, attending school,
and whatever his hand found fo do he did it with all his
might. When the war with Mexico came on the boy was seized
with a desire to become a soldier, but as he was but little over
16 years old his father promptly vetoed the proposition. But
his ambition was not quenched He waited and grew in
stature, and patiently nursed the bud of hope. In 1847 his
opportunity came. His uncle, Nathan Cox, had some cattle
ready for market and as Fort Leavenworth was the nearest
point where fair prices could be obtained he decided to drive
to that point. As he would need assistance he asked young
Cox how he would like to help make the drive. The boy was
anxious to go, but would have to see his father before giving
a final answer. The father was consulted, gave his consent,
and in due course of time the boy found himself in Fort
Leavenworth. Capt. Rodgers whs recruiting a company of volunteers at
Lea veil worii at the time, and upon his arrival there young
Cox naturally gravitated towards this center of attraction. He
learned that Capt. Rodg^is si ill needed i wt-lve men and the
lad eagerly offered his servic- s, and to his great delight they
were accepted As the war with Mexico was practically over

by this time Cox saw no active service in Mexico, but his
longing for excitement and adventure was fully gratified dur
ing the next two years which ware principally spent in the
saddle, scouting and chasing Indians, anywhere from Texas
to the headwaters of the Missouri river. During his first
year's service the command to which he belonged built Fort
Kearney. It was here that he first met Kit Carson. Carson
was carrying dispatches from Santa Fe to Leavenworth. He
had been provided with an escort, as the Indians were very
troublesome at the time, but at Trinidad Carson requested the
escort to return, saying that he could get along very well
alone. Col. Cox describes Carson as a man of medium
height, wiry rather than muscular, quick in his movements,
his demeanor quiet and reserved; he talked but little, spoke
in a low tone, but answered all questions fully and in a very
pleasant manner. A man of strong will and great determina
tion, and one who was continually weighing probabilities and
ever ready for action.
Besides Kit Cai son our subject came in contact with Jim
Bridger, the famous scout and Indian fighter, and many other
noted plainsmen of the time.
Upon one occasion while stationed at Nebraska City they
were ordered out to quell a Sioux uprising and for two months
they chased and fought the wily savages, finally driving them
far up and beyond the Missouri river at some point which the
Colonel thinks must have been near where Yankton, S. Dak.,
now stands. On this trip provisions ran low, and for a
month one biscuit, a rasher of bacon, and a cup of coffee was
their daily ration. At last even this meager fare was ex
hausted, and for three days they rode without fond, tighten
ing their belts occasionally to stifle the gnawing pains of hun
ger. On the evening of the third day they were approaching
a body of timber that bordered a stream of water and were
crossing a bottom prairie where the tall grass suggested the
possibility of a hidden foe lying in ambush. The captain or
dered his men to deploy, and gave strict orders that none
were to shoot except at an Indian. Moving forwaid ihe com
mand had nearly reached the timber when, as Col. Cox tells
the story, "A little deer jumped up and came running
towards me, and I shot it. Some of the boys dismounted ai d
threw the deer up in front of me and I carried it into camp.
I rode up to the captain and threw the deer down. He looked

at it a moment and said : 'Build a fire, boys. I want some
of that meat " Six more deer were killed that evening and
the famished men feasted upon rare venison without salt. It
was getting late in the season and a cold spell accompanied
with snow set in, which added to the sufferings of the men
upon their return trip.
Col. Cox tells an incident that occurred on one of their
scouting expeditions which illustrates the old saying that
necessity knows no law. They had reached old Fort Ver
million and found there a few French traders who were de
cidedly unfriendly. One day Cox came across an old French
man's cabin some three miles from the fort and as he rode
along noticed a very fine patch of potatoes. He stopped and
tried to buy some of the potatoes, but the Frenchman replied
in a very insulting manner and refused to sell the coveted
tubers. Cox finally offered five dollars in gold for a bushel,
but as this offer was refused he was compelled to go on to
camp without them. At camp he mentioned the matter to
his me*smates and that night Cox and two others returned to
the patch and the next morning their mess had potatoes for
breakfast. The captain belonged to this particular mess and
he ate potatoes with a relish and wisely asked no questions.
About tea o'clock there was a mad Frenchman in camp de
manding to see the captain. He poured out his tale of woe
in broken English interlarded with foreign and domestic pro
fanity and when he finally ran down and stopped the captain
quietly told him to just point out the man who had stolen his
potatoes and he should be punished. The impossibility of
doing this started the Frenchman to swearing again, but that
was the only satisfaction he ever received for his lost pota
toes. Upon another occasion when out of provisions one of the
men killed a badger and they took turns sitting up and kept
the pot boiling all night trying to cook the animal to a de
gree of tenderness that would fir. it for food. But the badger
defied all their efforts to overcome its toughness and they had
to go hungry.
For two years our subject led this life of hardship, sub
ject to cold, hunger, weariness, and often in danger. Here
in this school of experience the boy developed into the man ,
and when his term of service ended he returned once more to

his old home.
July 7th, 1850, he was united by marriage with Mary,
daughter of Gabriel L. Bailinger. The fruits of this union
were six children, viz., Gabriel W., born July 13th, 1852;
Mary C, born April 4th, 1854; Samuel P., born March 15th,
1864 ; Josie J., born April 10th, 1866 ; Frank L , born May
8th, 1869 ; and Bertha B., born Dec. 16th, 1873. Of these
all are living except Bertha, who died several years ago.
In the spring of 1851 Col. Cox located in Gallatin and in
partnership with George Pogue engaged in merchandising.
He followed this business for two years. He then sold out,
and in the spring of 1854 started overland for California.
The trip consumed about four months. He engaged in dairy
ing at Oraville and Grass Valley for the next two years, and
then returned to Missouri.
In 1858 he went back to the old life on the plains, this
time as wagon master for the great firm of overland freighters,
Russell, Majors & Waddell. A wagon train consisted of twen
ty-six huge freight wagons each drawn bv six yoke of cattle.
A train crew consisted of thirty-two men. This included
steamster and night herders. When th^ train went into camp
at night the cattle were unyoked and turned loose to graze,
the teamsters were relieved and the night herders took
charge. The next morning the cattle would be brought in,
when each teamster would have to go into the herd, find his
cattle, yoke and hitch to his wagon, and the train would pull
out. It usually took six months to make the trip from Mis
souri river points to Salt Lake.
It was while he was in the employ of this firm that Cox
made the trip from Salt Lake City to Gallatin alone. The
circumstances prompting this long, lonely, and dangerous
journey were as follows : Some freight trains belonging to
the firm were overdue and Majors, one of the firm, who was
in Salt Lake City at the time, came to Cox and requested him
to go in search of them. Cox reminded Majors that such a
trip was rather hazardous and Majors said that he knew it was,
and for that reason had selected Cox as the only man in his
employment who would be likely to get through alive. Cox
considered the matter briefly. Majors was his friend, had
been good to him, and for friendship sake he would make the
effort. If he succeeded his friend would appreciate the ser-

vice. If he failed— but he did not expect to fail— he was not
that sort of a man. Cox told Majors that he would go.
"Take two of the best mules in the corral and start as soon
as possible." In two hours Cox was on the road, riding one
mule and leading the other, upon which was packed his pro
vision and blankets. He left Salt Lake by way of Emigrant
valley, crossed Big mountain and Little mountain, and head
ed northeast for Fort Bridger. From Fort Bridger on to
Green River, thence across a dreary stretch of alkali plains
to the North Platte, following the overland wagon road
through Wyoming, over South Pass and on to Fort Laramie.
Here after resting one day he pushed on to Fort Kearney,
thence to Nebraska City, and then by easy stages to his home
in Gallatin. He had made the entire distance of over twelve
hundred miles in thirty days, and slept in a house one night
during the trip.
He met the delayed trains at Sweet Water, delivered his
message and came on. These and the soldiers stationed at
the forts along his route were the only white men that he
saw on that long ride.
One evening as he came over a ridge near where Deer
Creek empties into the North Platte he suddenly discovered a
large band of Indians. Satisfied that the Indians had seen
him and realizing that retreat was out of the question, he
rode on leisurely and soon came up with them. He recog
nized them at once as Sioux, and knowing something of tlieir
language he addressed an occasional remark to them as they
rode along, but his remarks were either received in silence or
responded to in such a surly manner as to convince him that
the noble red men were not in a very amiable frame of mind.
However as he came up with the chief he was greatly re
lieved at finding Red Cloud in command. He had befriended
Red Cloud on various occasions, giving him provisions and
other needful things, and the Chief recognized his benefactor
and received him with genuine friendship. They journeyed
along together until camping time and Red Cloud invited Cox
to eat with him. Cox however made some excuse and going
as far from the Indians as he could without exciting their
suspicions, he proceeded to make his preparations for the
night in the usual way, unpacking and picketing his mules
and preparing his supprr. After supper he rolled uo in his
blankets, but not to sleep. He realized that while Red Cloud

was friendly, there were a lot of young bucks with him who
had cast longing glances at his mules as they rode along that
afternoon, and while he did not apprehend any personal dan
ger he thought that if he remained where he was the chances
were good that he would have to continue his journey on
foot. As soon as everything was quiet in the Indian camp
Cox arose, caught his mules, packed one and saddled the
other and before morning had put many miles between the
Indians and his mules.
Perhaps some of my readers have made the trip from
Omaha to Salt Lake over the Union Pacific railroad and have
viewed from the car windows the dreary stretches of alkali
plains, sage brush, cactus, and barren mountains over which
passed the old North Platte emigrant trail. If so they are in
a position to appreciate the amount of patience, courage, and
fortitude necessary to make such a trip as I have just de
scribed. Leaving the employ of Russell, Majors & Waddell in
1859 Maj. Cox was not engaged in any regular business dur
ing the year 1860 But when the Civil war broke out in
1861 he assisted in organizing the Second Battalion of en
rolled Missouri Militia. This organization was perfected at
Cameron, Missouri, September 18th, 1861, at which time he
was elected and commissioned Major. As this battalion was
composed of "six months men," their time expired the fol
lowing March, at which time Maj. Cox assisted in recruiting
the First Regiment of Missouri State Militia, under command
of Col. James H. B. McFerran, and was commissioned Major
of that regiment March 12th, 1862. He was ordered on de
tail duty, as assistant inspector general to muster in troops
for the Northwest Missouri service, and served in this capac
ity until 1863, when, on account of failing health, he resigned
his commission, returned to Gallatin and entered upon the du
ties of circuit clerk of Daviess county, having been elected to
that position during his absence in 1862
Towards the latter part of October, 1864, word was
brought to Gallatin that Capt. William Anderson, the noted
guerilla chief, had crossed the Missouri river and was com
ing north under orders from Gen. Price to tear up the track
and burn bridges along the Missouri Pacific railroad. Maj.
Cox, upon receipt of this information, laid asid* the pen for
the sword and started toward the seat of war. At Hamilton,

Missouri, he met Maj. McDonald with about two hundred
men. Maj. McDonald insisted upon Maj. Cox going to St.
Joseph to report the situation and get assistance if possible to
meet Anderson. Cox went to St. Joseph, saw Gen. Craig,
and laid the matter before him. Craig at once requested Cox
to take command of the forces available and go in pursuit of
Anderson. "But I am no longer an officer," said Cox. "I resigned
some time ago, and am now a civilian." "Then I will make
you an officer," said Craig, and in about two hours Cox was
handed a lieutenant-colonel's commission ard ordered to take
command at once. Returning to Hamilton that night he at
once began preparations for a forced march, and before noon
the next day was on his way South. His command reached
Knoxville the first day and on the next evening were in
Richmond, Mo. This was on the 26th of October, 1864.
That night he wrote the following note to Col. Pace, who was
stationed with his command at Liberty, M«#.
"Richmond, Mo., Oct. 26, 1864."
"Col. Pace, Liberty, Mo."
"I am here with my command. lam going West to
morrow. I must hear from you. " "S. P. Cox "
Col. Cox then conferred with Maj. Grimes, who was in
Richmond with a small detachment. Grimes counseled de
lay, pointed out that their men were raw militia while Ander
son's men were experienced fighters, and to meet Anderson
under such circumstances was to invite defeat. Cox told
Grimes that if he felt that way about the matter that he would
better remain in Richmond, but that he intended to go for
ward the next morning. The following morning, October 27,
found Cox's command on the road leading West from Rich
mond in the direction of Old Albany. They had not gone
far when they were met by a woman on horseback. Her
horse was in a lather of sweat and had evidently been ridden
long and hard. She rode directly up to Col. Cox and began
to tell in an excited manner that she had passed Andersou's
camp, told where it was located, the approximate number of
his men, and other information. Col. Cox at once suspected
a ruse and called up Lieut. Baker and asked him if he knew
the woman. Baker repUVd that he did, and that any infor
mation given by her could be relied on Col. Cox then in-
v-ted the woman to ride along with him for a short distance

and from her learned much that he wanted to know. The
command moved forward until within about a half mile of the
place where Anderson was camped, when he halted his men
and made preparations for the attack. The road they were
traveling led along an open timbered bottom. Col. Cox dis
mounted his men with the exception of a small squad which
he ordered to go forward under command of Lieut. Baker and
bring on the attack. Cox in the meanwhile had ordered his
men to deploy upon each side of the road and this arrange
ment had scarcely been completed when the sharp firing be
gan up the bottom which told them that Baker had flushed
the quarry and the fight was on.
As soon as the firing began Baker retreated and was
soon seen coming down the road full tilt, with Anderson and
his men in close pursuit, Anderson about fifty yards in ad
vance of his men, his bridle rein in his teeth and a pistol in
each hand. It was a wild charge. On they came, every fel
low for himself, riding like centaurs and yelling like demons,
they all the while kept up an incessant fire from their revol
vers. It was a situation to try the nerves of veterans, but
the thin line of raw recruits scattered among the trees on each
side of the road never wavered They waited quietly until
Anderson's men were well within range and opened fire. An
derson probably realized at the last moment that he had fallen
into a trap, but if he did, with the reckless daring that char
acterized the man, he did not hesitate for a moment to take
the desperate chance of cutting his way out. It looked at one
time as though he would succeed, for he had reached a point
about forty feet distant from where Col. Cox was standing
beside the road when he suddenly threw up his hands and
fell backwards from his horse. A pistol ball had struck him
jutrt above the ear, killing him instantly.
It will probably never be known as to who killed Ander
son. The feat has been accredited to several men, but Col.
Cox when asked about this, said: "I don't know who killed
him. Several of us weie snooting at him, but it is impos
sible to tell who hit him."
The statement that Anderson had several human scalps
in his possession when he was killed has been so often de
nied by his friends and affirmed by others that I have taken
some pains to get the truth of the matter. Col. Cox says that
he remembers distinctly of cutting two scalps from the head

stall of Anderson's bridle. That one of these scalps was
dark hair and the other light. Adolph Vogel, who lives
near Coffeyburg in this county, and a man of unquestioned
veracity, was_ questioned by the writer concerning this state
ment, and said that he was a bugler in Col. Cox's command,
that he was the first man to reach Anderson after he was
shot ; that he was ordered to take charge of Anderons's ef
fects and keep them safely, which he did ; that as he now
recollects there were several human scalps tied to Anderson's
bridle — does not remember how many, but knows there were
some; that he took charge of Anderson's effects, and as he
now recolleets there was some $600 in money, six pistols, a
small silk flag with the words, "Presented to Capt Ander
son by his friend, F. N. R." upon it. There was also two
dispatches from Gen. Price and the letter written by Col.
Cox to Col. Pace the day before in his pocket. Anderson's
command had robbed the mail and having secured Cqx's let
ter was doubtless on the lookout for him when he arrived.
The fight lasted about ten minutes, for when Anderson's
men saw their leader fall they retreated. Col. Cox had six
men wounded in this engagement. James Milbigan, who was
a member of Capt. N. B. Brown's company, died the follow
ing day at Richmond. Ciel Miller, one of Anderson's men,
was wounded, and captured.
This put an end to Anderson's career, and his band
ceased to terrorize the people of the north part of the state.
Col Cox was warmly congratulated by Gen. Craig, and
also by Gen. Rosecrans upon his success in ridding the coun
try of "this band of guerillas. These letters were treasured
by Col. Cox, but unfortunately were destroyed by fire along
with many other valued mementos of the war, when his
house burned not long ago.
And so for sixty-five years this brave, generous, kindly
hearted man has gone in and out among the people of this
county. It is useless to tell them of his virtues. They ktow
him. They have honored him with their confidence and re
spect, and have found him worthy. They have trusted in
his honesty and integrity, and have always found him true.
He has lived a clean, honest, useful life, and when the sum
mons comes for him to cross the frontier into that unknown
country it will find him ready.

SOME ODD CHARACTERS.
Not long ago a noted instructor in manual training,
while discussing the question of the kind of material which
should be furnished pupils in cabinet making, declared that
"a pile of old rails" was the best thing that he had ever tried.
The triumph of the worker's art is enhanced by the difficul
ties overcome. When, therefore, by his labor and Lis skill,
he has succeeded in transforming the rough and unsightly
material into an article of use and beauty, the worker is filled
with the joy that comes to those who can do things and do
them well.
A rough block of marble lay by the roadside, and the
crowds passing saw only the rough stone. But one day a
sculptor came and his artist's eye saw an angel in the rock,
and he took the stone away Long and patiently he toiled,
chipping away the stone, but his reward was great, for when
bis task was done the angel stood revealed Many came to
share in the joy of his triumph and they praised the work of
his hands, for they did not understand. But the sculptor
said, "That angel form had long been mirrored in my soul;
had it not been so, my hands could never have acquired the
skill to find it in the stone."
Men are born into this world sometimes with a longing
to make beautiful things and if the desire is strong enough
they will find a way to gratify their longing. Nathaniel Cur
tis belonged to this class. He was an old man when I was

but a small boy, but we became great friends. I know
little or nothing of Curtis' history. I think that he was a
Kentuckian by birth, as he often referred to events that had
occurred in that state. By trade he was a chair maker and
he owned a set of tools and a turning lathe. These, together
with a few household goods, a horse and wagon, comprised
his earthly possessions. He went into the woods for his ma
terial which cost him nothing but the work of obtaining it.
A hickory tree would furnish enough material to keep him
employed for a long time. He would select a large straight
grained hickory tree, fell it and chop it into desired lengths,
split it into pieces of suitable dimensions for his work and
haul it home. With a hand axe he would then prepare each
piece for the lathe, where it would be finished. He made
good chairs and bottomed them with hickory bark. Curtis
was a quaint little old man, full of wise saws and witty say
ings. He believed in witches and had an inexhaustible fund
of the most wonderful witch stones that ever entranced the
mind of an imaginative boy. I used to follow him about and
haunt his shop in ord > r to hear him talk. He liked an appre
ciative listener and I have sat with him of nights listening to
ghost stories and of witches that he had personally known
until Ijwould be afraid to go home alone. He told me once
of a woman (one of his relatives, I think) who was a witch
and he said she could stir boiling soap with her naked hand
and suffer no harm. He had also seen real ghosts and cnuld
give the time and place of each particular instance, that his
statements were not doubted by me at that time. Once he
told me how to become a wizard. The formula was long and
difficult to remember and I do not think that I ever quite
mastered it. Altogether it was a grewsome ceremony, full of
cabalistic words, strange oaths and horrible incantations,
warranted to raise the devil, and when his Satanic majesty
appeared, he would confer the coveted power upon the candi
date. Curtis knew how to prepare charms, tell fortunes and
had all the mystical love of the esoteric philosopher of the
backwoods.

ZACHARIAH WEST
was another quaint character, I do not think that he ever
owned a home but he managed to rear a large family of boys
and one girl. West was a good hand at ordinary farm work,
was not lazy but lacked the power to plan employment for
himself. Set to perform a task he would work faithfully un
til the task was completed, but was unable to go beyond that
and begin a new piece of work upon his own initiative. He
rarely ever received money for his work, a sack of corn or a
side of bacon satisfied his demand for wages. During the
war West quit talking suddenly, and for several years did
rot speak a word to anyone. Whether he was unable to talk
or had quit for fear he might inadvertently say something
that would endanger his life was never known. After several
years of silence he began to talk again, but his organs of
speech had been so long unused, that he never afterwards
spoke distinctly.
West had a son called Gudg, and a story passed current for
many years of how West undertook upon a certain occasion
to show off Gudg's manners to a neighbor. Gudg, so the story
ran, was at the woodpile chopping wood when the old man
decided upon the test. "Now listen," said the old man to
his neighbor. Then, "Oh, Gudg!" "Sir," came promptly from
the boy. "Hear that," said the proud ftther, "most mannerly
boy you ever seed in your life. "Now listen ; Oh Gudg." Again
the answering "sir" from the boy, to the increasing delight of
his father. The old man was elated and he called the third
time, but Gudg's patience was gone and instead of the respect
ful "sir," there came back such a fearful torrent of invective
mingled with profanity that the neighbor was horrified, but
the proud father never turned a hair. He just smiled and
when the boy ceased he merely said, "There, spunk and man
ners too, by gad.
This same Gudg enlisted in Price's army, and upon one
occasion while doing picket duty with strict orders to let no
one pass who did not have the countersign, General Price and

staff came dashing along and were promptly halted by Gudg
and told to advance and give the word. It so happened that
none of the party knew the countersign and the General rode
forward and announced that fact, adding that he was General
Sterling Price and ordered the strenuous sentry to stand aside
and let them pass. But Gudg did not move nor relax his
warlike attitude. Gudg stuttered when excited, and his reply
was characteristic : "It d-don't make a d-damd b-b-bit of d-
d difference if y-you are g-gineral Jesus C-c-christ you c-c-
can't pass here without the p-p-password," and the General
and his staff sat there in a pouring rain until a messenger
could be dispatched to headquarters. When at last the caval
cade resumed their way the General raised his hat to Gudg and
complimented his fidelity to duty.
JEFFERSON KELLY
lived on a little spot of cleared ground known as "Kelly's
Deadening." He was a sort of jack-of -all-trades, but well
digging was his principal business. Kelly, bike West, led a
shiftless existence and eked out a living for himself and fam
ily by doing all sorts of odd jobs for his neighbors. At house
raisings, hog killings, and in harvest time Kelly was always
in demand and made a full hand. It was, however, during
"protracted meetings" that Kelly was at his best, for as an
old brother put it, "Jeff was able in prar." During a revival
Kelly was the very embodiment of religious enthusiasm and
always occupied a prominent place in the "amen corner"
where he established a sort of community of respectability be
tween himself and the pillars of the church for the time
being But Teff never tried to extend the recognition grant
ed here, beyond the doors of the church. He knew his limi
tations, and recognized the difference between religious toler
ance and social recognition. It was the custom during the
war to hold prayer meetings at private residences and a man's
welcome more often depended upon his political faith rather
than his religious convictions. Here the gray haired father

invoked the Divine protection of his boy who was battling at
the front and for the ultimate triumph of the cause which he
believed to be just. While Kelly had neither boy nor politi
cal convictions he always rose to the spirit of the occasion
and if prayer could have saved the day and turned the tide of
battle, the Southern Confederacy would .have won hands
down. At one of these meetings held at Uncle Isaac Jordin' s
Kelly was called on to lead in prayer. He opened up all
right and got through with preliminary matters in his usual f e-
licitious manner, but somehow when he came to discuss po
litical issues he seemed to lose his grip. Isaac Oxford and I
were small boys at the time, and were devoutly kneeling in a
dark corner of the room. It occurred to us that Jeff needed
encouragement, and we began to supplement his feeble peti
tions with hearty "amens," "do, Lord," and "God grant it."
Kelly did not know the source of the endorsement which he
was receiving but it revived him at once, and he fairly outdid
himself, much to the delight of two small boys. But the se
quel for one of us at least was not so amusing. Mother was
present, recognized my voice, and gave me one of the worst
whippings that 1 ever received. That settled the matter so
far as I was concerned. I never encouraged Kelly after that.
He might have got stuck in the middle of a prayer and stayep
there for all I cared.

RELIGION IN THE EARLY DAYS.
"There is in the nature of man," says Dr. Walker, "or
in the circumstances in which he is conditioned, something
which leads him to recognize and worship a superior being.
What that something is, is not important in our present in
quiry ; whether it be a constitutional instinct inwrought by
the Maker; whether it be a deduction of universal reason, in
ferring a first cause from the things that are made ; or the ef
fects of tradition, descending from the first worshippers ;
whether any or all of these, the fact is the same — man is a
religious being; he will worship." And the pioneer was no
exception to the rule. Rejoicing in his independence, he yet
felt his helplessness and dependence should some unexpected
calamity overtake him. He was much alone and solitude is
said to be "the mother of great thoughts," and it was by an
easy and natural transition that the thoughts inspired by the
vast solitudes of the forest and the prairie should lead through
nature up to natures' s God.
The "circuit rider" followed close upon the heels of the
early settlers, and was always a welcome guest in the log
cabins of our fathers. He was usually a man of little learn-
ino1, but unbounded zeal; a man with an easy conscience and
a good digestion. He traveled from one settlement to an
other on horseback carrying a pair of huge saddle bags which
contained a few articles of clothing, a bible, and tracts upon

various religious subjects, thus combining the offices of
preacher and colporteur. He was moved by an honest desire to
be useful and helpful to his fellowman, and although he asked
for nothing beyond the means of subsistence he gave freely
of all that he possessed. It mattered little , whether he was
called upon to perform a marriage ceremony, preach a funeral,
assist at a log rolling or "take up a corner" at a house rais
ing, he waited for no second invitation, but just sailed in and
did his level best. He knew his people and kept in touch
with them. But he never lost caste by assisting in heavy
work. Always he was "the preacher" and was resj>ectedar.d
venerated as a man set apart for God's work. If he assisted
at a house raising or any kind of work on which a number of
men were engaged, he generally made it a condition prece
dent that if he helped them work through the day they were
to come at night to some cabin in the neighborhood and hear
him preach. And thus did the circuit rider "Become all
things to all men, that by all means he might save some."
Hymn books were scarce and the preacher usually
"lined" tne hymns ; that is, he would read a couple of lines
and the congregation would sing these, and so on, with alter
nate reading and singing, the song would proceed to the end.
The preacher employed a peculiar intonation, and occasional
ly one would be found who was remarkably effective in this
style of reading. Sometimes in gentle supplication, again in
mournful cadence, then rising like a pean of victory, he
would read into the lines the intense emotions and longings
of his own soul. To this sort of reading, men and women
with strong, untrained, but not unmusical voices wo'ild re
spond ' with the spirit and the understanding." And thus
did our fathers and mothers worship God in song.
The circuit rider was indeed a "rough ashlar" compared
with the polished pastor, but in the matters of unselfish devo
tion to the cause of his Master, untiring zeal in the pursuit
of his labors, and in the absolute sincerity of his convictions
he would in nowise suffer by comparison with his more eru-

dite brother of to-day. He believed in a personal God and a
peripatetic devil that was liable at any moment to make a
square meal off some unsuspecting sinner. There was noth
ing negative about his preaching. The existence of heaven
and hell, the certainty that those who accepted God's terms
of salvation would be saved and that those who rejected them
would be eternally damned were postulates predicated upon
the word of God and he therefore spent no time in speculat
ing upon the fact. Hades had not been invented then and
the pioneer preacher depicted in lurid language a literal hell
"where the worm dieth not and the fire is not quenched,"
that those wolves who masqueraded in sheep's clothing in
this world would find themselves wearing hot jackets in the
next. The primitive preacher often became personal in his
sermons, and would single out some old sinner and turn up
on him the batteries of his denunciation with such certain
aim that it was impossible for his victim to dodge the hot
i- hot and pass them on to his neighbor.
Among the old heroes who first came to the Grand River
country to spread the good news the names of a few have
come down to us. but of the men themselves we know but
little. Among the first preachers were Abraham Millice and
Robert Morgan. Then there were the Ashbys, Thomas and
Benjamin. Benjamin was a quiet, taciturn man, while
Thomas was the soul of good cheer. He had the love of God
in his heart and showed it in the best way possible by loving
his fellowmen. As a shepherd looking for lost sheep he
never stood upon ceremony. If men would not come to him
he would go to them. Wherever there was an unsaved soul
there was work for him to do and he never shirked. It is
said that he wonld find his- way into a grocery, as the saloon
was then called, and make himself so agreeable that when the
hour for preaching arrived, he had only to say, "Come, boys,
it's time to go to church," and the crowd would follow him
almost to a man. William Redmond was another of these
pioneer preachers, and had the distinction of having had

more children named after him than any man who was ever
in this part of the state. William Robinson also belonged to
this period, as did George Flint, Cooper, French and others
whose names I have forgotten or possibly never even heard.
So far as my information extends the first camp meet
ings in the Grand River country were held at a camp ground
on the Kessler farm in Livingston county. Just when these
meetings began I am unable to say, but I learn from Judge
Joshua F. Hicklin that when his father came to this part of the
state in 1839 camp meetings had been held annually for sev
eral years at the place above referred to. The "campers"
had built log cabins so as to enclose three sides Tof a square
piece of ground of about an acre or more in^extent. The
south side of this square was left open and pass ways were
left between the cabins at the corners In the oper space in
this square a sort of arbor covered with brush was construct
ed and seats were provided by laying logs at suitable dis
tances apart and across these hewed puncheons. A "gum
spring" near by furnished an abundance of water. Here in
that early day came Wm. Martin, Andrew Ligitt, James
Leeper, Wm. Dryden, Richard Chenoweth, Dr. Samuel Ven-
able and his brother William, Washington Anderson,
Schivers, R. W. Reeves, and their families, neighbors, and
the stranger within their gates. It is said that Reeves had
attended these meetings for years, but all efforts to bring him
into the fold had failed, but in 1843, the year in which Wil
liam Miller, the founder of the sect known as Millerites, had
prophesied the end of the world, Reeves concluded to take no
chances on being caught in the final catastrophe of a burning
world without religious protection and joined the church.
Miller died December 20, 1849, without seeing his prophecy
fulfilled, but Reeves remained steadfast until the time of. his
departure. These were held at this place until as late as 1854. They
were usually held in the month of August, and it was a pe
riod of physical relaxation and spiritual upbuilding to our

fathers and mothers, and afforded them an opportunity to en
joy the social amenities of life for a brief season. Here the
people would come bringing with them bedding, cooking uten
sils, and provisions, and make themselves reasonably com
fortable during their stay.
It was at this camp ground or one similar to it that Dr.
Caples first met Bishop Marvin, who was then a young man.
In his account of this meeting Caples says : "It was a gloomy
morning and a drizzling rain was falling, but the people in
sisted upon having services at the regular hour. In this di
lemma I suddenly recalled the fact that a young man had been
introduced to me the evening before as a preaching brother,
and I at once sent for him and told him that I would expect
him to conduct the morning services. He offered no objec
tions and at the appointed time I had the satisfaction of see
ing the young man mount the rostrum in that dripping arbor
while I viewed the scene from the inside of a dry and com
fortable cabin near by. Marvin gave out a hymn which the
people sang with considerable spirit, offered up a short prayer
and soon was preaching I could hear him fairly well from
where I sat, but soon 1 was seized with a desire to get nearer
and presently I found myself standing out there in the rain
oblivious to physical discomfort, completely charmed by the
matchless eloquence of this unknown youth."
In 1855 the place for holding camp meetings was changed
and a new camping ground was located a short distance north
west of Jamesport, and near a never failing spring in James
Callison's pasture. Here the necessary arrangements were
made for the accommodations of the people. No cabins were
built at this place, the close proximity of the town making it
unnecessary. There were perhaps a few tents and the usual
arbor in which to hold services, but no permanent improve
ments. But two or three annual meetings were ever held at
the new location and the last meeting closed on the 10th of Sep
tember, 1857, closed with a free-for-all fight. The trouble
originated in this way : Someone had erected a tent not far

from the camp ground and furnished it with a barrel of whis
key. It was probably some such an arrangement as this that
prompted Defoe to declare that :
"Wherever God erects a house of prayer
The Devil alwaysbuilds a chapel there."
The devil's chapel was well patronized and soon one of the
goats wandered over among the lambs where he was promptly
arrested by the faithful shepherds, 'and impounded. The
prisoner's friends at once organized a party, and started to
rescue him. In doing this they showed lack of good judg
ment, for they found that these quiet citizens were bad men
to stir up. They stood close to nature's primal law of self
preservation and had not progressed sufficiently far in the di
vine philosophy of the new covenant to be able to "turn the
other cheek." The old law of an eye for an eye and a tooth
for a tooth — the law of retaliation and revenge which two
thousand years of Christ has failed to abrogate — appealed
strongly to these virile men. They placed a liberal interpre
tation upon the injunction to "Live peaceably with all men so
far as it lieth in you," and it did not lie in them to have their
rights invaded and themselves insulted without resenting it.
From all accounts it was a bloody fight and the disturbers
were driven from the grounds in defeat and disaster. While
a number on each side received serious and painful injuries,
luckily no one was killed. A number of indictments were
found against different men engaged in this disgraceful affair
but the war coming on soon after I find no record of any of
them ever having been brought to trial. In an idle hour I
hunted up some of these old indictments and with idle curi
osity read them over. The names contained therein would
sound familiar to many of my readeis, but it is not my pur
pose to mention them here. Most of them have passed away
and I have no desire to speak disrespectfully of the dead or
to wound the feelings of the living,
Thus passes into history the camp meetings of our fath
ers, and this notable phase of the religious life of our ances
tors becomes but a pleasant reminiscence.

RELIGION IN THE EARLY DAYS.
(CONTINUED.)
During this period the population had increased rapidly
and the people were better fixed financially and they were
able to erect a few church buildings in different parts of the
county. And so it was that the old itinerant preacher who
believed that he was called of God to preach the good news,
and who, whether mistaken in the source of his call or not,
answered promptly without stopping to inquire what the sal
ary would be, was superseded by the regular pastor at a
stipulated price.
A few of the old veterans accepted the new order, and
took regular work, but many of them still wanted to "go"
where the harvest was golden and the reapers few and garner
sheaves for the Master.
Among the first church houses erected in the eastern part
of the county were the Clear Creek church, Harmony, and
just west of Jamesport, the old Ketron chapel.
The Clear Creek church still stands in a fairly well pre
served condition. Most of the old time leaders of the congre
gation that assembled there have passed away. There were
Nathaniel Davis, Hiram Poe, William Eads, Gabriel L. Bai
linger, who, like the Old Guard, "died, but never surren
dered" their faith. Phillip B. Smith, who stood shoulder to
shoulder with these men in the battle for righteousness, still

lives, and so far as I know is the only surviving member of
that little band of true hearted men who held this congrega
tion together for so many years.
This congregation of Disciples had been in existence long
before the war and dated back to the early settlement of the
county. Elder George Flint preached for them along in the
forties, and later Dr. Jourdan of Chillicothe, Mo., John H.
Bailinger, David T. Wright, Joseph Davis, and others whoso
names I cannot recall preached for them. Elder Wright
edited a religious monthly called the "Christian Pioneer,"
which he published for several years at Chillicothe, Mo. This
publication was established in 1860 and was at that time the
only one under the control of the Christian church west of
the Mississippi river. It was ably edited and numbered
among its contributors many of the ablest men in that church .
Among these there were Jacob Creath, Benjamin Lockheart,
J. M. Henry, Calvin Reasoner, B. H. Smith, J. W. McGar-
vey, and besides, many laymen of prominence.
In 1865 Jacob Creath declared that he had been preach
ing for 48 years and had received less money and more abuse
than any man in the Reformation. "I have not," said he,
"received to exceed $600 during the past four years." But
he never stopped to ask the price when there was work to be
done. In looking over a bound volume of the Pioneer I find
many things to recall the past, and mark the changes that
have taken place in the last forty years. Under date of
March 19, 1865, John A. Brown of Daviess county writes an
interesting letter to the Pioneer. In it he speaks of attend
ing a meeting at St. Joseph, Mo , and says : "I happened to
be there two nights during that meeting and saw them im
merse in the meeting house and was favorably impressed at
the time with the propriety of that arrangement." He then
proceeds to make a strong argument in favor of placing a
baptistry in each church house, "where all could beaccommo-

dated at all times without let or hindrance." While there
was no very pronounced opposition to the introduction of the
baptistry, there were yet a great many people, who, perhaps
as a matter of sentiment rather than of faith, preferred to be
immersed in the waters of some running stream. I know
that this was my own feelings in the matter, for when I unit
ed with the church under the teaching of Elder Wright I in
sisted upon going to Clear Creek to be baptized. There was
no baptistry in the old Clear Creek church aud the ice was
some two feet thick. Elder Wright was at that time old and
rather feeble and Benjamin Matchett, then a young preacher,
offered his services. We went to the place where a hole of
convenient size had been cut in the ice, were lowered iuto
this watery grave and there he baptized me. Although it
was a bitter cold day and we had to ride some distince to a
farm house to change our clothing, I suffered no ill effects
therefrom. A host of reminiscences connected with the old church
at Clear Creek crowd upon me, but I must push on up to Old
Harmony, for these awaiting me are Rev. John W.French, Al
fred Cooper, Wm. Houston, the Ragan Brothers, Amos Coen,
and many other preachers of the Cumberland Presbyterian
faith, together with with a host of my old time friends, and
neighbors waiting to be told about.
Among all the preachers that I ever listened to at this
place I think now that Wm. Houston impressed me most.
Houston was rather under medium size, slender and wiry;
sharp featured with deep set coal black eyes which under ex
citement glowed like coals of fire. He was an eloquent and
impassioned speaker and carried his audience with him at will.
There were no thirty minute sermons then. When the preach
er got thoroughly wound up and started he just went on as
far as the road was cut out. I remember of listening to
Houston preach one night from the words : "Ephraim is a
cake not turned. Strangers have devoured his strength, and

he knoweth it not : Yea, gray hairs are here and there upon
him, yet he knoweth it not. " He must have spoken for at
least two hours. It was one of the most terrific arraignments
of the world, the flesh and the devil that I ever listened to.
Leaning far over the pulpit his thin visage flushed with emo
tion, his piercing black eyes glittered like gleaming daggers
of the mind,his longbony index finger fixing his hearers, while
from his lips there fell a torrent of scorn and condemnation
for the faults, follies and foibles of the world, that he ap
peared more like the incarnation of Apollyon than a messen
ger of peace. Nor was his preaching ineffective. I saw ono
night twenty-one new converts, who had come into the fold
under his preaching, stand up to testify as to what the Lord
had done for them. It was an indescribable scene and one
long to be remembered by those who witnessed it. Some
were talking, some crying, others laughing, some shouting
and singing, while the contagion communicated itself to the
audience and from all parts of the house came the noise of
shouting,exhortation and song. Mothers, fathers, children,
neighbors and friends mingling their voices in prayer and
praise and gloryfying God. For perhaps two hours I stood
near the center of the building, leaning against a pillar,
strangely interested in this weird scene. While I felt no in
clination to take part in it, I never for a moment doubted the
absolute honesty and sincerity of those who did.
The old Ketron chapel stood about a mile west of James
port. It was long ago abandoned as a house of worship, but
is still standing and has for many years been used as a barn.
Here in its palmy days came some men of remarkable power.
Its old walls have echoed to the matchless eloquence of such
men as John D.Vincil and Bishop Marvin, while many lesser
lights have labored here.
I recall an incident that occurred here during the Civil
war which illustrates the petty annoyances to which the peo
ple were at times subjected by irresponsible, roving companies

of militia. A meeting was in progress and a company of
these tin soldiers happening to pass that way thought it
would be rare sport to stop and hold a flag over the door so
that the people would have to pass under it as they came out
of church. When services were over the people began to
file out. When they saw the flag and realized the purpose to
which "old glory" was being degraded they were naturally
indignant. But while there were flushed faces and eyes blaz
ing with anger and indignation there was no word of protest
and nearly all had passed out when it came the turn of a
spirited young woman to pass under the flag. As she came
in reach of it she siezed the flag and tore it in two. For this
she was arrested and held prisoner for a short time, but this
experience did not have the effect of increasing her regard
for the men who disgraced the uniforms they wore and the
flag they bore that day.

So far these memories have dealt mainly with biographi
cal sketches of the early pioneers. Before going further it
may not be amiss to take a brief glance at the daily bif e of
the early settler. While his life was one that called for much
of toil, hardships and privations, he still had his pleasures,
his pastimes and amusements. Nor was the social side of
life entirely neglected. For the enlightenment of the young
er generation and in order that they may have a better under
standing of the men and women of the early days, we will go
"Back where the latch-string's a-hangin from the door,
And every neighbor 'round the place is dear as a relation,"
and see ****** "The whole kit and bibin ;
A drivin' up from Shallor Ford to stay the Sunday
through,
And I want to see 'em hitchin' at their son-in-laws', and
pihV
Out there at Lizy Ellen's like they used to do."
No, the pioneers did not make fashionable calls. They did
their visiting in the earnest, wholehearted way that they did
everything else. And what a hearty welcome was accorded
the visitors — the more the merrier, and how genuinely glad
the people were to see each other. How well they could
adapt themselves to the limited space in the little cabins and
nobody feel crowded in the least. If it was winter time they
gathered about the big fireplace and while they warmed, the

cooking went on and savory smells of "hog and hominy" filled
the room and whetted the edge of appetite. Great corn
"pones" or corn dodger came crisp and brown from the oven,
and the big dish was piled high with fried pork or bacon and
there was coffee for the big folks and sweet milk for the
little fellows and occasionally some preserves that had been
kept for company. And when the mother announced that
supper was ready, then "pap" would say, "Bring your cheers
and set up," and the table would be surrounded and every
body invited to help themselves. And what ingenuity it took
to find beds for all, and how they laughed over it and made
light of difficulties until a way was found to make everybody
comfortable for the night. Then the men would go outside
while the women and children went to bed and then come in
and go to their appointed places.
After breakfast we will leave the women folks to talk
over their affairs and tell each other of the spinning, coloring
and weaving, of the garments made and knitting done, and
of the luck they had in making soap, and go out and "knock
'round" the place for awhile. We see a large yard sur
rounded by a low rail fence and a path leading to the "stile
blocks" in front of the house. These stile blocks were sec
tions sawed from some large tree and were of different lengths,
forming a sort of rude stair steps. These blocks were chiefly
used by the women in mounting and dismounting from their
horses. The wood pile was usually located just outside the
yard fence, where the chips accumulated from year to year. In
the rear of the cabin an ash hopper and a large iron kettle hung
on a pole that rested in two stout forks driven firmly in the
ground. Here the soap making was done. A short distance
away stood the smoke house built of round logs and covered
with clapboards. The top log usually extended several feet
beyond the end of the building and on this deer skins hung
to dry. Coon and other skins were stretched and nailed up
along the sides of the building. There was usually a small
log stable used for horses only, as cattle and sheep found

shelter among the friendly breaks of some nearby branch or
creek. The cattle were small, wild and inclined to be vicious.
Hogs were of the Razorback variety. I am unable to give
their pedigree. It was probably lost in antiquity or some
other place unknown to the writer. But the Razorback never
seemed to feel the need of a pedigree. He was the most in
dependent hog in the world. They never waited for an invi
tation to enter a cornfield. If the fence was too high to
climb, they could turn on their side and go through a four
inch crack without trouble. Nothing made the Razorback
happier than to get into a cornfield on a rainy day and have a
boy and half dozen dogs chase him. He might lose an ear,
sometimes both ears, but the loss of his ears was not suffi
cient to bring about his regeneration and cause him to re
form. He was a living example of total depravity, never
good until he was dead and nothing extra then. It may be
that if his genealogy could be craced far enough, it would be
found that some of the swine into which the devil entered
escaped drowning and the Razorback was a lineal descen
dant of the survivors and inherited the traits of his ancestors,
devil and all.
The horses of the early settler were better bred than either
his hogs or cattle. The original stock had been brought
mainly from Kentucky, the land of fair women and fast
horses. As oxen were generally used for the heavy work of
the farm, horses were reserved almost exclusively for riding
purposes. And for this they were especially adapted, being
sure footed, active and possessed of great powers of endur.
ance. In many a mad race to the land office at Plattsburg,
Mo., the ownership of a coveted claim was often decided in
favor of the man with the best horse.
Each herd of cattle that roamed the range was under the
leadership of some old monarch of the prairies who had vin
dicated his right to rule in many a hard fought battle with
some weaker aspirant for that honor. In those early days
the law of "natural selection," and the "survival of the fit-

test," prevailed. When the virile powers of some old time
leader of a herd began to wane, he was speedily supplanted
by a younger and more vigorous animal. These duels were
terrible in their intensity of purpose, and the unyielding
courage of the combatants. We shall never forget one of
these duels which we witnessed when a boy. Riding across
the prairies one evening, our attention was attracted by the
bellowing of a young bull who was sounding his challenge of
defiance. Knowing that it would soon be answered, we
stopped to watch the result. Presently we saw another bull
leave the herd that was grazing quietly not far away and ap
proach the younger champion. No Knight of the Round
Table ever bore himself with a lordlier mien, or walked the
earth with a more martial tread. When within twenty feet
of each other they stopped, and as they stood bellowing defi
ance, each looked the very incarnation of insatiate vengeance
and intensified hate. But the time for action had come.
Warily they approached each other, sparring with the skill of
trained gladiators for an opening. Round and round they
went, gradually contracting the intervening space between
them. Neither seemed in a hurry to begin. Both seemed to
realize that it was to be a duel to the death. At last there
was a momentary halt, and then came a mad rush, and they
closed with a shock like a thunder bolt. There was no ad
vantage, each had caught the other fairly on the horns. They
seemed to be momentarily stunned by the terrific onslaught,
but they quickly recovered and then came the terrible trial of
strength, skill and activity. Their hoofs sank deep into the
yielding sward, their mighty muscles contracted into great
chords, while sinews and tendons seemed ready to snap un
der the terrible strain. Again and again did the young bull
break his hold and strike for a vital spot, but as often did his
skillful and vigilant antagonist receive him upon his sturdy
horns. Now the old bull is rushing the fight, his antagonist
slips— is almost down— the old bull will win ; but no — the su
perior activity of the younger animal now comes into play and

quickly recovering he springs aside and darts squarely at the
old bull's side, catching him in the flank, inflicts a terrible
wound ; maddened with pain and growing weak from the loss
of blood, the old bull begins to fight wildly, and again and
again is he wounded until at last his tottering limbs refuse to
respond to the call of his courageous will and he falls. The
victory is won, and the victor walks proudly away to join the
herd that has passed out of sight over tin ridge, and claim
his kingly rights. The sun goes down and the stars shine
out, while far out on the lonely, silent prairie the old monarch
lies dead upon the field of battle.
Hunting was the chief pastime of the early settlers. And
it was not altogether for pleasure that they followed the chase
or stalked their game in the silent woods, for wild game
formed no inconsiderable part of their daily fare. But it is a
poor sort of hunter that follows the trail from necessity or
for the simple love of killing. The true hunter loves to fol
low the untrodden ways of vast solitudes, with eyes alert to
the color, form and texture of leaf and shrub and flower, the
ever changing lights and shadows of the landscape and all the
bright visions of nature's pulsing life. With ear attuned to
catch the import of every variant sound, his soul drinks in
the message bourn on the wings of whispering winds, the
music of the babbling brooks and the wild bird singing to its
nesting mate its song of joy. And his soul is filled with joy
and exaltation when beholding nature in her wilder moods.
Sometimes from the friendly shelter of some overhanging
rock he watches the wild sweep of the storm, listens to the
thunder, peal on peal reverberating from cliff to cliff, and
sees the century old oak shivered by the lightning's forked
shaft. For him the woods are God's great story book. Here
he finds : "Tongues in trees,
Books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones and good
In everything "

And out of the vast silence there comes a voice and
"Come wander with me," it said,
Into regions yet untrod,
And read what is still unread
In the manuscripts of God."
And so by degrees the hunter becomes half poet, half natural
ist, a mystic and a dreamer unfitted for the more practical
things of life.
But the necessities of the pioneer were too pressing to al
low him to go to extremes in this direction. His equipments
consisted of a long barreled flintlock rifle, provided with a
receptacle in the breech to hold his "patching;" a leathern
shot pouch and powder horn. In the home the rifle was al
ways placed in a convenient place, usually over the door. I
have wondered how this almost universal custom of placing
the rifle over the door originated and can only account for it
upon the hypothesis that it marked the survival of some
primal custom of the days when a man's house was his castle
and he its sworn defender. Then in case of sudden attack,
his first thought would be to bar the door, the next to secure
his gun, and so they were placed near each other that these
defensive acts might be as near as possible simultaneous.
Game of all kinds was plentiful, but the pioneer did not
waste ammunition on the smaller sort while deer and wild
turkeys were to be had. If quail or prairie chickens were
wanted, they could be easily trapped and as for squirrels —
well, it took as much powder and lead to kill a squirrel as it
did to kill a deer. There were also "varmints" of great va
riety. The timber wolves, gray, gaunt, savage brutes that
usually hunted alone and the prairie wolf, a smaller and
more timid variety that always hunted in packs. The gray
fox, raccoons, oppossum, mink, skunk, ground hog and other
varieties of fur bearing animals, whose skins passed current
as a medium of exchange, abounded along the streams.
The early settlers were famous for dogs and children. A
stranger approaching a frontier cabin would halt at a respect

ful distance and hollow "Hello." The answer to this friend
ly hail was then made by the outer guard of dogs in every
immaginable key from the sharp staccato of the savage cur to
the mournful bass of the old lead bound The door of the
cabin would then be cautiously opened by a woman with a
child in her arms and six more hanging to her skirts, who
sharply questioned the stranger at the gate, and if the an
swers returned proved him to be worthy he was invited to
"Light and look at your saddle," the dogs were called off
and the stranger permitted to enter in peace. In addition to
their duties as outside guardians of the cabin home, these
dogs rendered useful service in the chase of deer, hunting
wolves and fur bearing animals.
Three methods were employed in hunting deer: By
stalking the game, driving with hounds, and shooting by fire
light at a deer lick. When either sport or novelty was de
sired, one or the other of the last two methods was employed,
but where the hunter wanted meat, he would go alone or per
haps with a dog that could be relied upon to follow close and
keep quiet no matter what happened. If there was a good
tracking snow it did not take the hunter long to find deer
signs. It was then simply a question of matching reason
against instinct and manscraft against animal cunning. If
the trail led straight away with long even steps the hunter
knew that the deer was traveling leisurely and unless dis
turbed would not go very far. But when the trail began to
zig zag it was a pretty sure indication that the deer was tired
of browsing aud was looking for a place to lie down. Now
the hunter needed aU his knowledge of woodcraft. He stops
and makes a careful survey of the country ahead and on each
side of trail. If nothing is discovered he moves on silently
as a shadow, stooping to avoid low hanging limbs and care
ful not to step upon dry twigs, pausing at short intervals
to look and listen. Every sense, especially those of sight
and hearing, is keenly alert. The tension is almost painful
in its intensity. Suddenly he stops and his gaze is riveted

upon an objective point some distance away. For some
moments he stands motionless as a statue, hardly seeming to
breath, then apparently satisfied with his observation, with a
swift silent motion he brings his rifle into position, takes a
quick, steady aim and a sharp report awakens the echoes of
the forest and yonder, seventy-five yards away, a deer bounds
into the air, makes a few convulsive leaps and falls dead.
The novice would have passed it by unobserved. Perhaps
there was only a slight movement of the animal's head, the
flicking of an ear, but however sbight the motion, it was suf
ficient to catch the trained eye of the experienced hunter.
Hunting wild turkeys afforded hardly less sport and re
quired, if anything, more skill on the part of the hunter than
was required in hunting deer. Extremely shy and watchful
and choosing for its haunts places where a dense undergrowth
favored its concealment, it was most difficult of approach.
The chances were even that the turkey would see before it
was seen, and then a warning note would be sounded and the
flock would either fly, scattering in every direction, or would
disappear as silently as so many shadows. It depended on
the time of year as to the method employed in hunting tur
keys. Along in the late summer or early autumn the half
grown turkeys could be flushed by a dog and while the dog
attracted their attention while they were perched in the trees
out of his reach they could be picked off almost as easily as
tame fowls. Later in the season, after the leaves had fallen
on a night when the moon was high enough, it was good
sport to go into the woods and shoot them from the roost.
When this kind of sport was desired, it was best to go into
the woods about sundown and locate the turkeys by listening
for them as they flew up to roost. As a rule the turkeys
would choose as their roosting place the tallest trees along a
creek and in order to reach them they would start to fly from
some neighboring bluff, and of a still evening their noisy
flight could be heard for a long distance. To the inexperi
enced, it was a matter of no little surprise to find how small a

turkey appeared at night when perched in the top of a tall
tree. The hunter must know what he is looking for if he ex
pects to see them. In this kind of shooting the hunter gets
in a position where the turkey is between him and the moon
and the moonlight glinting upon the gun barrel enables him
to aim with almost as much accuracy as he could in the day
time. The learner usually riddled a good many squirrel
nests and knocked the bark off of numerous knots before he
learned to distinguish these objects from the game that was
sought. But the method that required the most skill and af
forded the best sport was the one employed in the early spring
during the mating season. There would come a time along
in March when there would yet be a tang of winter in the
wind, but the warmth of the sun's rays had melted the snow
and the water trickling down the hillsides in little muddy
streams had caused the branches and creeks to rise, and
overhead the sky showed blue between drifting clouds that
were mirrored in wind shivered pools ; and long lines of
geese and ducks and brant harrowed north ; and from out ou
the prairies came the booming note of the prairie chicken as
he wooed his mate to the trysting place ; and from far away
in the depths of the forest came the raucous sound of the
wild turkey's gobble, then was the season ripe for this rare
sport If you are a hunter, then it is that the fever gets into
your veins and you just have to go. So the next morning
about the time that the light of the morning star begins to
pale before the coming of the gray dawn you shoulder your
rifle and are away. You follow an old wood road until it
ends abruptly on the summit of a high bluff, then down tho
bluff by a narrow trail, across the creek on a foot log, then on
and up a long white oak ridge that slopes gently to the creek
bottom, on to where there is open timber and there in a tree
top that blew off last summer when the leaves were on, you
find a place of concealment and are ready for a time of wait
ing that will sorely try your patience. The denizens of the
woods begin to awake. A crow calls noisily to its mate from

a near-by tree. A woodpecker is tearing bits of bark and
decayed wood from a dead snag while industriously hunting
for his breakfast. A squirrel comes lopeing along, spies you,
scents danger and scurries away to his den tree and disap
pears in a hole only to reappear a moment later, but so slow
ly and cautiously that his head seems to grow out of that
hole. But just then you are awakened to the fact that there
is something else astir in which you are more interested, for
off to the south a turkey gobbler is making the welkin ring.
You thrust your hand into your shot pouch and fish out a
turkey bone and cautiously imitate the call of the gobbler's
mate. A short silence and another gobble tells you that the
turkey is slowly approaching in answer to your call. He is
perhaps not over two hundred yards away. Now all your
skill with the turkey bone is required. A single false note
and the bird would flit like a shadow. You call again softly,
barely loud enough for him to hear and this time he answers
promptly and you can hear the rustle of his wings as he
struts through the dry leaves. You are now able to deter
mine about the point where the turkey will appear and you
get into position so that when the time comes you can fire
without moving, taking the precaution to cock your rifle lest
the click of the hammer should alarm him. Now you can
see him approaching, now stopping to gobble, now running
forward, extending wings downward until they finally be
come so rigid that they seem to act as breaks and stop him,
but always he is coming toward you. He is too close now to
risk a call. One hundred, seventy-five, only fifty yards and
in plain view. And right here, if you are a novice, you get
so nervous that you couldn't hit the side of a barn, but if you
have been there before you take careful aim, fire and the
turkey is yours.

PASTIMES.
As I have already said, the pioneer boy managed to ex
tract considerable pleasure from life. He bad his times of
relaxation and indulged in the recreations and amusements
peculiar to his time.
In the winter time dances were frequently held at some
neighbor's house, and a general invitation was extended to
all who might wish to participate. Sometimes these dances
were preeeded by a corn shucking, a log rolling, or a house
raising. On occasions of this kind there was a tacit under
standing that only the boys and men who took part in the la
bors of the day were entitled to participate in the pleasures
of the night. And this rule was rarely infringed, for the
pioneer boy had his code of honor and he was too proud to in
trude where he had not earned a welcome.
At these gatherings the men came early and worked with
a vim. There was always more or less generous rivalry in
their attempts to out do each other in feats of strength, en
durance, and skill in performing the work in hand. At house
raisings the huge logs had to be carried to the proper place
and then raised by sliding them up long "skids" to the top
of the building where they were received by the men who
"took up the corners" by chopping a notch in the under side
of the log and fitting to the "saddle" on the log below. Two

men of about equal strength would pair at the hand spikes
with which the logs were carried and when it came to a heavy
lift, woe to the man who failed to ' 'keep up his end of the
hand spike."
As a rule the laziest man in the community was the first
on the ground on occasions of this kind, and did more work
and made himself more useful than any two other men pres
ent. I have such a man in mind to whom a house raising
was a joy and a hallelujah. He always expected (and was
seldom disappointed) to find a jug of whiskey on the ground
and he at once made its acquaintance and constituted himself
its guardian ad litem for the day. He never allowed any
whiskey to be wasted. If a man wanted a drink he would ac
company him to the jug — just to see that none of the precious
liquid was wasted. Nor would he allow anyone else to get
drunk. Sooner than have such a thing happen he would will
ingly have drunk every drop of that liquor himself.
Not many log cabins were built by the younger genera
tion. I witnessed their passing and in their place came the
box house of the prairies. As I remember now Aaron Wells
built the first box house in our neighborhood. I was present
when he began this building and saw the corner boards put in
place and the plate nailed to the top of them. There was not
a studding in the building and the denizens of the solid old
log cabins shook their heads as they contemplated this frail
structure and confidently predicted that it would "blow over"
with the first strong wind. That was at least thirty five years
ago and that house is still standing. There were but few of
this kind of buildings erected and the box house period was
brief. To these succeeded the substantial frame structures of
to day which are not only more artistic in design, but also
more comfortable and durable.
Tho dance that usually followed a corn husking furnished
fun enough to fully pay for all the work that had been done.

The workers usually quit about four o'clock in the afternoon,
went home, did up their chores, changed their clothing, and
then went after their girls. The young men did not have
buggies then, but their horses as a rule would "carry double"
and if the young lady had no horse of her own, why she
could ride behind her escort. The pioneer girl did not stand
on ceremony and when it was a question of getting to a dance
she did not quibble about methods.
The familiar figures of the old fashioned cotillion were
generally used. The round dances were little known and
never found much favor with these people. The round dance
was entirely too tame for these rollicking youngsters, where
the best daicer was the one who could make the most noise
with his feet. The young man who Was properly attired
wore tight fitting calfskin boots with very high heels and red
tops ; and in order that the beauty of the red tops might not
be concealed his breeches were thrust into his boots. Some
times a young man would further ornament his feet with a
pair of bell spurs which also added greatly to their effective
ness in making a noise while dancing. And there was usual
ly more or less whiskey and When the bottle was passed to
the girls they did not always refuse.
Sometimes two lusty rivals for the affections of some coy
maiden in a fit of jealous rage would retire to the seclusion of
the back yard and proceed to settle the question of priority of
the claimants' rights. And they also fought upon other pre
texts, for, like Dumas D'Artagnan, they "never missed a
chance for a fight." I remember being at a dance at John
Brown's one night and a young doctor who was present by
some reason failed to respond when his number was called
and the next number was called, the set filled, and the dance
went on. The next round, however, the doctor was on deck
demanding the right to dance. The floor manager (I think
his name was Newton) informed the doctor that he would

have to wait until his number was reached again in the regu
lar order. To this the young Aesculapius vigorously object
ed, the argument waxed hot, and finally the doctor called
Newton a liar. That always meant war, and the word had
hardly left the doctor's mouth when Newton's pistol popped.
I think it was Clay Oxford who knocked this pistol up, and
the ball went into the ceiling, doing no harm. But a little
disturbance like that did not interfere with the dance. It is
quite probable that none of us had ever heard of Byron , but
we were in the mood to encore the sentiment :
"On with the dance,
Let joy be unconfined,
No sleep 'till morn when youth and pleasure meet,
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet."
To the "unco guid or rigidly righteous" among us who
looked upon a fiddle as the instrument of the devil to lure
weak and unsuspecting souls into the depths of the bottom
less pit, dancing was uncompromisingly denounced. But the
children of these good people wanted to be amused, so they
organized "play parties" where "Weevilly Wheat" and
"Old Sister Phoebe," together with a lot of other plays that
were only modified dancing with an occasional kiss thrown in
as a sort of sauce to their otherwise unpalatable amusement,
took the place of the objectionable dance.
Dancing, then as now, had its ardent friends and bitter
enemies. The church hurled its anathemas against it, paren
tal authority was invoked to assist in stamping out the evil,
but for all that the young folks danced on. I remember of
hearing an old preacher pour out the vials of his wrath upon
the giddy youths who were dancing along the "Primrose way
to the eternal burning," and he declared these offenders
would finally be damned and doomed to "dance 'Juba' in
their bare feet upon the red hot cinders of the bottomless pit
throughout the endless ages of eternity."

Good fiddlers were scarce and always in demand. Nearly
every boy wanted to be a fiddler, but fiddlers like poets are
born, not made. I suppose that when the desire to do some
particular thing is strong enough in us that we will find a
way. I remember that Ike Oxford wanted to be a fiddler, but
he had no fiddle ( As he was but a boy and had no money with
which to buy the coveted instrument he concluded to make one.
An ax and a barlow knife were all the tools at his command,
and armed with these he went to the woods for his material .
With infinite patience and no little skill he finally fashioned
an instrument upon which he learned to play. Its tones per
haps could not vie in sweetness with those of a Cremona or a
Stradivarius, but it satisfied the cravings of this boy's soul
hunger for the "concord of sweet sounds."
Of all the old time fiddlers I think that Abe Blakely
pleased my fancy best. Abe was a Kentuckian and his mu
sical reportoire consisted of plantation melodies, gigs and
hornpipes. He could play the "Arkansas Traveler" and in
terlard it with the conversation between the "Traveler" and
the Arkansas fiddler, which never failed to provoke generous
applause from his hearers. He could cut all sorts of antics
with his fiddle, sometimes holding the fiddle behind him, at
other times with the bow between his knees and the fiddle in
both hands, he played and laughed and sang the old planta
tion songs. I knew him well and I never heard him say a
harsh or unkind word of any man. He spent his last night
on earth playing for a dance The moralist may hold up his
hands in holy horror at this, but who knows but what this
gentle, kindly soul in that "mortal hour" swapped his bat
tered old fiddle for a golden harp and is now making celestial
music in the paradise of God.
There was wooing and wedding then as now, and the young
couple who began their wedded life without a rousing chari
vari would have felt slighted indeed. But there was seldom

cause for complaint along this line, for it required but little
effort to get up a charivari party. When a wedding occurred
no matter what pains were taken to keep it quiet, it would leak
out, for the whispering winds seemed to bear the message far
and wide, and then as if by common consent the clans would
gather in force, armed with guns, cowbells, hunting horns,
and tin pans — anything in fact that was calculated to add to
the volume of discordant din which they proposed to raise
about the ears of the newly wedded pair. Scouts were sent
out by the charivari party to keep watch upon the movements
of their intended victims, and these faithful spies would re
port from time to time so that the location of the wedding
party was generally known before the party started. When
the time for action arrived tbe motley crew would ride away
into the night, moving swiftly and silently as shadows until
they were near their destination. They would then dismount,
tie their horses, and hold a cmsultation. Someone who was
well acquainted with the locality was chosen to lead, then
slowly and with the greatest caution the final approach was
begun. This was a trying time to the younger members of
the crew. The suppressed excitement, the enforced restraint
v, as so trying upon the nerves that sometimes you felt like
you wanted somebody to kick you real hard just to relieve
1 he tension. Finally the yard fence was scaled without dis
covery, then came the final line up, a few whispered orders,
a wild rush and the house was surrounded and pandemonium
broke loose. Old muskets and shot guns "volleyed and thun
dered," cow bells "jangled out of tune," horns blared and
tin pans rattled furiously, mingled with yells that would have
made an Indian brave turn green with envy, all combined to
awaken the newly wedded pair to the fact that they had not
been forgotten, and that the matter of their charivari was be
ing attended to with a conscientious regard for the proprieties
of the occasion. After the novice got into action aud had

fired his gun or railed his tin pan and yelled a few times he
lost all nervousness and got down to business like a veteran.
In the first lull there was usually a call for the bride and
groom. If they gratified the curiosity of the serenaders then
all was wdl and the party dispersed. If they went further,
as they sometimes did, and invited the intruders into the
house — that was better and ended in a feeling of good fellow
ship all around. Upon the other hand if the bridal party le
sented the intrusion (a thing that rarely happened) and re
fused to appear, then began a siege that was simply a ques
tion of endurance, and in these contests the besiegers were
usually victorious, sometimes going so far as to force an en
trance into the house and compelling the bride and groom to
appear. In these rough and tumble orgies there was always a
chance that someone would get hurt, but I do not re
call that anyone was ever seriously injured. I have a ve^'
distinct recollection of the night we charivaried John Kincaid.
I was armed with an old fashiored dinner horn about four
ieet long and was making an earnest and energetic attempt
to make my part of the noise. The services had not been in
progress very long when John's father appeared at the door
and although we could not hear what he said, it was evident
from his manner that he was not in a very angelic frame of
mind. The old man was a blacksmith, strong as a horse, and
had quite a reputation as a fighter. He was not a handsome
man even when in a good humor, but when his features were
distorted by anger he had a mug on him that would stop n
clock. As I came around the house I caught sight of the old
gentleman, saw that he was mad and in order to encourage
him, while he was looking the other way, I stuck that old din
ner horn up to his ear and blew a blast that nearly knocked
him off tbe steps. This attempt succeeded so well that I tried
it again. In this I exercised bad judgment, for as I ap
proached for the second attempt the old man landed a kick

on the end of the horn that sent me reeling backwards, and I
carried my mouth in a sling for weeks afterwards.
Perhaps the reader is beginning to think we were a pretty
rough lot. But if you will remember I admitted at the out
set that we were only about half civilized. A mamma's dar
ling with the ambrosial locks would have felt as sadly out of
place among us as "Joe Folk" would to find himself con
sorting with a lot of boodlers.

PASTIMES. [CONTINUED]
But as time passed we did not stand still. Our opportuni -
ties for mental culture were very limited. Always fighting
with a broken sword, we still had the courage to strike for
higher things. Books were scarce and difficult to obtain
When I was but a small boy my grandfather gave me four
books, a history of the United States, and copies of Young's
Night Thoughts, Burns and Shakespeare. When I was
grown I had read no other books, but I had read these a great
deal. At first in reading Shakespeare my immature mind
could grasp little more than the thread of the story, but as I
went back to it from time to time as I grew older I began to
dive deeper and bring up richer treasures from unfathomed
depths of this great "intellectual ocean, whose mighty waves
touched all the shores of thought."
Some of the boys, more fortunate than I, were sent away
to school, and these returning showed us the way to better
things. A literary society was organized at old Harmony
church and here we met once a week to debate some question
and engage in other literary exercises.
One of the most effective debaters belonging to our club
was John Rheai He had attended the common schools some
and had attended one or two terms at McGee college Tall,

straight, with black eyes and hair, endowed with an imperi
ous will that could not brook opposition, he was a fearless
and fluent speaker. He always dressed well — much better
than his associates, and as he was not over fond of work some
of the boys would occasionally want to know how he could
get such good clothes, and to questions of this kind he would
reply that it was "a poor community that couldn't afford one
gentleman." Another point in Rhea's philosophy of life
was that any fool could make a living by hard work, but that
it took a smart man to live without it. Rhea died many
years ago while comparatively a young man.
James B. Drummond, "Little Jim," or "Thumb," as the
boys called him, was the Cicero of our club. Always quick
to detect the weak point in his adversary's argument and ever
ready to take advantage of it, he would go after his antago
nist like a bald hornet after a house fly, and he always had his
stinger out. If a neat job of skinning was to be done by
common consent the assignment went to Jim. Jim and I
were boon companions in our boyhood days. The fact that
our fathers were dead and our mothers widows, "fond of no
second love," but with unselfish devotion, living and toiling
for their children, created a bond of union betwen us. We
would often swap work and the days thus spent were happy
ones, for while we worked some, we also found time for other
things. Once we hung a dog for killing sheep, but the act
was not done hastily, but after a fair and impartial trial in
which Jim appeared as prosecuting attorney and I acted as
judge. The forms of justice may not have been fully ob
served, for the dog might have "stood upon his constitutional
rights and demanded trial by a jury of his peers " The evi
dence was purely circumstantial, but strong and convincing,
in fact almost tantamount to the dog having been "caught
with the goods." We adjourned court to the scene of the
murder in orcbr that the corpus delicti might be fully estab-

lished. The dog manifested considerable nervousness when
confronted with the body of his victim, a fact duly noted by
the court. The proseeutor then pointed out the further facts
that the dog was still "red with the life blood of his innocent
- victim and had wool between his teeth." That settled it.
Without unnecessary delay the dog was found guilty. The
summing up of the evidence was short and in rendering judg
ment the court directed the dog be taken to the nearest lean
ing tree and there hanged by the neck with hickory bark un
til he was dead. The court then adjourned to the woods
Where the execution was carried out without anger and with
out pity. On another occasion we were playing in the barn lot
where there were a lot of sheep when Jim told me of the fun
he had been having with the sheep by driving them into the
barn, then laying his coat across the door sill, run the sheep
out and see them jump that coat. He wanted to show me
and I was willing to be shown. The sheep were soon in the
barn and Jim started to lay his coat across the door when all
at once a happy thought struck him, and he announced that
instead of using his coat that he would lie down across the
doorway as that would frighten the sheep more and make
them jump higher. He then laid down upon his face and I
started the sheep, but at the last moment Jim realized that he
could not lie on his face and see the sheep jump, so just as
the first sheep reached the door Jim flopped over on his back
and as the sheep jumped it struck the top of the door, which
was rather low, with such force that it fell almost straight
down, landing on Jim's stomach with all of its feet. Before
Jim could recover from his surprise another and another sheep
had repeated the performance and now they were pouring out
in a woolly torrent. Jim yelled like an Indian, tried to get
up, tried to shoo the sheep back, but true to <sheep nature
-they kept coming. Finally extricating himself from the

wriggling mass of mutton, Tim was pretty badly battered and
when he saw me laughing it made him mad as a wet hen.
But Jim never stayed mad very long at a time and we were
soon looking for new adventures.
Jim learned the blacksmith's trade, married and settled
in Carlow where he still lives and where by working at his
trade, merchandising and trading, he has become well fixed
and is the same genial, whole-souled Jim that he was in the
long ago.
But if Jim was the Cicero, Marve Scroggins was the
Demosthenes of our club. Scroggins was married and much
older than the other members, but as he was dividing time
between falling from grace and trying to be a preacher at
this time he joined the club iu order to cultivate his oratory.
He had cultivated the preacher's voice by calling hogs and
driving oxen until his stentorian tones were a sort of cross
between a fog horn and a calliope. If Seroggins was short
on ideas he was always long on words, and although the
"thread of his verbosity was stronger than the staple of his
argument" his long sentences had the ponderous roll of
Homeric hexameter that made up in sound for what it lacked
in sense. Ho was a sort of "oratorical hurdy gurdy" and it
was just beautiful the way the boys used to sail in and punc
ture this "bag of sweetened wind" and cause him to collapse.
During a protracted meeting Murve would work with the
utmost, zeal and he exhibited the utmost concern for the
spiritual welfare of his "neighbors and his neighbors chil
dren." His intentions were possibly good, but his insistance
was at times annoying One day some of the boys found a
nest of yellow jackets in the woods near the church and it
was suggested that Marve be introduced to them. In order
to carry out, the suggestion some of the boys went to Marve
at the noon hour and professed great concern about ther spir
itual prospects and asked as a special favor that Marve retire

with them to the seclusion of the tvoods for a season of secret
prayer. Marve was delighted with the request and announced
his readiness to go. When the penitents reached the yellow
jacket's nest the boys thought it was just the place for
their purpose. Marve thought they might find a more se
cluded spot, but the boys insisted and Marve yielded the
point and was soon putting up a fervent petition in their be
half. With closed eyes and uplifted hands Marve was warm
ing to his work when one of the boys stirred the nest and the
yellow jackets swarmed out in foice to repel the attack. The
boys retired so quietly from the zone of danger that the first
intimation that Marve had that anything was wrong was
when the yellow jackets began to prod him. Perhaps he had
visions of another Pentecostal shower and tongues of fire
that were hitting him in spots, but at any rate he suddenly
adjourned the meeting and began to fight yellow jackets and
say things that are not found in the Sunday school books.
Columbus Burge was perhaps the best educated boy
among us. He had attended college, had plenty of native
ability and was a good student. He had a good command
of language and was a close and logical reasoner.
Joe Snider, while not possessing the gift of gab to a
marked degree, was yet a ready writer and contributed many
spicy articles to the "Jackson Astonisher," our society paper.
George Peniston was another member of our club. He
always spoke slowly and with great deliberation. One night
we were discussing the old yet ever new question of women's
rights, and when it came to George's turn he opened by say
ing: "Gentlemen, there is a difference between men and
women" — then paused, and with greater emphasis, contin
ued : "I say gentlemen that the Almighty made men and
women different." Here he paused again. This was an op
ening for the opposition that could not be overlooked and
someone uttered a fervent "Thank God for the difference."

At this another member of the opposition was on his feet in
stantly. He arose to a point of order, interruptions of this
kind were indecorous and in bad taste. The speaker had
simply stated an axiomatical proposition and moved that he be
permitted to proceed with his argument. The foregoing is
given as a sample of the running fire of question and com
ment which each speaker had to endure at the hands of that
olub. Another member was Dr. Girduer. The Doctor was per
haps forty years old at this time, a widower, and anxious to
contract a second matrimonial alliance. A number of hand
some young ladies attended the meetings of our club, and to
one of these the Doctor was paying his devoirs. The old
rooster likes to cackle amoig pullets and the Doctor was reg
ular in his attendance and usually on the program, as it gave
him au opportunity to air his superior knowledge and shine
by contiast with a lot of rustic youths.
One night while arguring some question the Doctor
dwelt at considerable length upon the youth, inexperience
and general lack of knowledge on the part of his opponents
and argued from this their utter inability to grapple with the
question under discussion. It fell to my lot to reply to the
Doctor. I was an indifferent speaker, as the few things
that 1 knew had a way of vanishing when* ver I was on my
feet and particularly anxious to use them. But for once I
was eager to get the floor. I felt that the boys owed the
Doctor a few things and were expecting me to make pay
ment in kind. I prefaced by admitting our youth, plead
guilty to lack of experience and while admitting the fuither
fact that our stock of general information was limited, that
it was made up entirely of staple articles. While denying
that youth was necessarily the badge of ignorance, that we
had before us a Jiving exemplification of the fact that aga
was not always a synonym for sense. That while youth some-

times assumed the prerogatives of age that this spectacle was
not so deplorable as that of decrepit age trying to ape the
follies of youth. Argued from this that it was far better to
be a youth in his no u -age than an old man in his dotage.
Pirated freely from Pitts' reply to Walpole, parodied parts
of The Deserted Village and sat down feeling pretty well sat
isfied with my performance My self < omplacency was rude
ly jarred however when the next speaker began by saying
that as I had confined myself to a personal attack upon his
honorable colleague there was nothing in all that I had said
that called for a reply, ai d leaving us to settle our personal
differences in such manner as might suit us best he would
proceed with the argument of the question.
Jerry Lile was a good natured giant who used to attend
our meetings, but I do not recall that he ever attempted to
speak but once. The boys insisted that Jerry try his hand,
and while he protested that he "Just couldn't make a speech,"
in the end he yielded, for he was too good natured to refuse.
And Jerry tried, but Jerry couldn't get any sand on the rails
and the wheels of memory began to slip and he slid back
into silence. Then it seemed to strike him very forcibly that
there was something very humorons in the bare thought of
his trying to make a >peech and he began to laugh. N< w
Jerry's laugh was a sort of cross between the bellow of a
bull and the neigh of a horse and when he began to laugh all
other business had to be suspended. But if Jerry could not
make a speech he could swing a six pound ax like it was a toy
and could make more railroad ties in a day than any man I
ever saw. I know, for I worked with him at one time and he
could make two ties to my one and do it easy.
Louis Kincaid was another one of the boys that used to
gather at Old Harmony. Louis was a bullet headed, square
jawed boy with the courage and tenacity of a bull dog, and a
restless energy that never tired. He could stand rough jok-

ing as long as a joke was intended but when you used rough
epithets to him it was always best to "smile," as he might
mistake your meaning.
Once Louis had a pair of mules that he thought a greet
deal of and when they were stolen he did not wait to notify
the officials but started in pursuit alone. He followed the
thieves across Northwest Missouri, and over into Kansas,
sometimes losing the trail, then finding it again, but always
with the persistence of a pursuing nemesis hung to their
trail like a bloodhound and finally coming up with them took
the mules away from the thieves and returned in triumph
with his property.
And so I might go on indefinitely telling of these sturdy
sons of the pioneers who were trained in the lists of the prai
ries and the tourney of the woods, but lest I tire the patience
of the reader I will pass on.

PASTIMES. [CONTINUED]
The Fourth of July was celebrated in the backwoods in
due and ancient form "with bonfires and illuminations with a
few side attractions thrown in for good count." It took a real
old fashioned country boy to thoroughly enjoy an occasion of
this kind. Not thnt his patriotism was increased by listen
ing to the reading of the Declaration of Independence or the
florid utterances of the orator of the day, for to neither of
these did he pay the slightest attention. But he would loaf
around on the outskirts of the crowd, munch gingerbread and
drink red lemonade, throw at a nigger's head stuck through a
sheet, chase the greased pig, ride, or attempt to ride the buck
ing mule, throw rings for a cane that he seldom got, and
which would have been useless to him if he had ; worked the
wheel of fortune for cigars that he could not smoke, make
vain attempts to climb the greased pole, get lots of fun out of
the sack race, swing his best girl, and then in the evening
they would find a secluded spot where free from prying eyes
they could hold each other's hands aud watch the fireworks,
and indulge in an exchange of those silly nothings and whis
pered confidences that would start a little bird to singing in
their hearts, and it would sing of love, and the joyous ten
derness of that sweet refrain "I love you" would echo
through the corridors of their hearts and lighten the toil of
many a weary day. And the next morning he would get up

with a dark brown taste in his mouth that would require a
month of corn bread and buttermilk diet to thoroughly eradi
cate. Along in the autumn when the Indian summer days had
come and the forest was radiant in its robings of crimson and
gold ; when the leaves were drifting down with every passing
breeze ; when the grasshoppers froze by night and thawed in
the mellow sunshine of the afternoons along the old rail fence ;
when the barefoot boy skipped gingerly over the frosty
ground in the early morning, aud warmed his rusty feet
where some friendly cow had taken her nightly rest ; when
the hills looked gray and distant in the dull haze of the som
ber days ;
"When the frost was on the pumpkin and the
fodder in the shock ;"
the stone bruise healed, and the boy could wear his winter
boots; then it was that the b-iys would begin to lay plans for
a coon hunt.
Saturday night was usually chosen, as this would give
them all day Sunday in which to recuperate from the effects
of a long tramp through the woods that sometimes covered
miles of territory. About sundown the hounds would be
called together by blowing tbe ho-n and they would instantly
gather, yelping, whining and howling in every imaginable
key. The hunting horn of the early days was naade by saw
ing off the point of a steer's horn and hollowing out a mouth
piece. Some of these horns were not only large and verv
long, but beautifully curved so that when scraped thin and
polished they were very handsome, and a practiced hand could
blow a blast on one of these that could be heard for miles.
After their first ebullition of joy at the prospect of a
hunt, the bounds would trail along quietly until the hunting
grounds were reached. Here we would slacken our paceL aud
give the dogs time to cover the ground. One of the young

dogs opens on a trail and we halt and listen a moment. But
the old dogs do not join and we move on. The younger mem
bers of the ciowd are getting imparient, but some of the old
er ones remark that "It is a little early yet." Presently an
old lead hound opens, just a single note, and to the trained
ear there is something of doubt and uncertainty mingled with
an element of hope in that single note. It is a cold trail, and
the old dogs work slowly while the young ones dash here and
there vainly trying to pickup the trail. Slowly but surely
the older dogs work it out, and as the trail gets warmer their
baying becomes more frequent. It is getting warm now, even
the young dogs begin to join in occasionally and soon the
whole pack is running in full cry and a crowd of lusty boys
bringing up the rear, scrambling through the underbrush,
leaping fallen trees, ruuning flush with the hounds and yell
ing like demons. The chase is leading towards the creek and
as the pack reaches the stream the chase is checked. As we
come up we see the young dogs running around in a helpless
sort of wav. The trail has ended at the water's edge, but the
old dogs lose little lime. They are searching the banks of
the stream and soon one of them "speaks" and the pack
knows that the trail has been found and now they are off like
the wind. There is no uncertainty now. Confidence is the
dominant note in all that babel of sound. It is a hot trail
and they are sending that coon home in a hurry. But now
the chase has stopped suddenly. There is a momentary si
lence and then comes one long drawn note which is instantly
succeeded by a very pandemonium of barks and howls. It
tells the story as plainly as if the message had been spoken
by human voice, *hat the eoin is "treed." In crossing the
creek and the swiftness with which the last run was made by
the dogs, the boys have become scattered and left behind, but
now there is a wild dash toward the yelping pack and it is
every fellow for himeelf and the devil take the hindmost. If

it is a clear starlight night and there are not many leaves on
the tree it. is possible to see the coon, but as a rule the coon
would select not only the largest tree in the woods, but one
that afforded the means of concealment as well. Of course if
the coon could be seen it would be an easy matter to shoot it,
but that would be a poor sort of sport. The thing was to get
the coon and dogs together and witness the battle royal that
would ensue. This could only be done by chopping the tree
down A fire would be built on each side and at a convenient
distance from the tree and the work of felling the tree would
then begin. As fast a* one tired another chopper would take
his place and the tree was soon ready to fall. Out in the di
rection in which the tree would probablv fall and beyond the
line of danger some of the crowd wouid b<. stationed to hold
the dogs. When all was ready, a few vigorous strokes of the
ax and the old monarch of the forest would begin to topple
and then come down with a crash that would awaken the
sleeping echoes. As the tree struck the ground the dogs
were loosed and immediately surrounded it. It sometimes
happened that the coon would jump before the tree struck
the ground and if he escaped uninjured, would make off
through the woods and reach another tree, but as a rule tha
coon would be found by th* dogs somewhere among the limbs
of the tree and tnen the battle would begin. I uever coubl
get much enjoyment out of this part of the program. None
of the boys followed the dogs more eagerly or enjoyed it
more, but when it came to killing the coon, somehow I al
ways sympathized with the coon. The combatants were so
unequally matched that the cnon was doomed to make a hope
less fight, and the fact that he always fought bravely to the
last and died game, enlisted ev^ry sympathy of my boyish
heart. Only once do I remember of seeing a coon get away
from the dogs. It was a c'ear moonlight night and the coou
was surprised by the dogs while he was fishing for crawfish

along the banks of a lake. The coon took to the water and
the dogs after him. The fight that ensued was one of the
most exciting that I ever witnessed. A dog would seize the
coon and the coon would whirl on his antagonist and have his
head under water so quick that the dog would be forced to
release his hold and swim for his life. One dog after an
other bravely went to the assault only to be vanguished by
the valiant coon. Fiually the combatants were far out in the
lake and the dogs weary and discouraged returned to the
shore, while tin victorious coon swam to the opposite sho<-e
aud disappeared in the darkness. He had made such a game
fight that wo let him go unmolested for that night at least.
From one to half a doz m coo is were the usual resubs of
a hunt. To. 3 younger minbjrsoi: tin cr>wd had tie some
what doubtful honor of carrying the peltries and the ax, car
rying wo id for the fire and in other ways making themselves
usefuL Sometimes the hunt would be prolonged into the
"wee sma" hours of the morning and the violent exercise
would produce a ravenous appetite. At such times it was an
easy matter to skin a coon and roast choice bits over the glow
ing embers, and these eaten without salt would appease the
pangs of hunger and we would then rake together a pile of
leaves and lie down by the fire, drop into a dreamless sleep
from which we would be aroused all too soon to continue our
tramp The last coon hunt that I took part in along Grand river
bottom was nearly thiity years ago. Levi Murry and I start
ed ome evening about dusk from his place, accompanied by
four hounds, all veterans of the chase, and rode off toward
the river. As we neared the river south of Carlow, we heard
a pack of hounds running in full cry upon the opposite side
of the stream. The pack was probably a mile away and we
drew rein and sat on our horses listening for some time.
Finally Murry remarked, "I think that I know that pack ; they

are all young dogs and tbe taail is leadiog to the river. If
the coon crosses they will stop on the other side. We will
just go on a little nearer the river and wait. If the coon
crosses, and the other dogs do not follow, we will pu„ our
dogs in, and being fresh they will tree that coon in ten min
utes." Murry's prognosis proved correct and the plan worked to
perfection. The coon crossed, the other dogs stopped, our
dogs were turned loose, and inside the limit set by Murry,
that coon was up a tree. But what a tree. It was very dark,
but when I reached the tree and began to feel around it to de
termine its size, it was so large that I was opposed to cutting
it, ; but Murry insisted, saying that it would be too bad to
disappoint the dogs, that the tree leaned and being a cotton
wood would chop easy, and so on, until I yielded the point,
and we began the task. Murry was left handed and did hi-i
stunt first. I think that he probably got through the bark on
the side toward which the tree leaned when he came to me
puffing like a tortoise, for he was very fleshy and not used to
work of this kind, and said that he thought that most of the
chopping could be done from my side of the tree. I began
and for at least two hours 1 worked like a Trojan. The tree
was over four feet in diameter and the ax handle would nnt
reach across the stump. At last I had the satisfaction of
hearing it crack and begin to quiver and the ax sank deeper
into the yielding wood. Murry who had been industriously
holding the dogs for at least an hour, now moved out of range
of flying limbs and with a few more strokes the old giant
started and with a deafening crash it came to the ground.
Murry turned the dogs loose and they made the circuit of
the fallen tree, but no sign of the coon. I then took a fire
brand and making my way among the debris of broken limbs
finally found the coon stone dead — killed by a flying limb as
the tree was falling.

And so for a time we lived, toiled, suffered aud joyed,
and then passed on. But in passing we witnessed many
wonderful changes. We saw the old blue sterm waving in its
summer sea of glory, and we saw it vanish and the blue grass
take its place. And we saw the prairies b> oken by huge clum
sy plows, drawn by from four to six yoke of cattle ; and again
we saw it broken with a riding plow drawn by a single span
of horses. Following in the footsteps of our fathers we cut our
grain with a cradle, but we have lived to see the reaper, and
that in turn replaced by the self binder.
We saw the flail aud used it threshing grain, and I have
ridden a horse and led another around and around trampling
out the grain that was afterwards gathered up and winnowed
by hand ; and 1 saw the horse power thresher come upon the
scene only to be replaced a little later by an improved ma
chine run by a traction engine.
To raise a crop of corn we plowed the ground, marked it
off both ways with a single shovel, dropped it by hand and
covered it with a hoe. Afterwards it was cultivated with bull
tongue single shovel and diamond plows, going twice or three
times in a row. All this has been changed, the labor les
sened and the work expedited by the use of improved machin
ery. We have seen the razorback hog grudgingly give place to
his more aristocratic brothers with less nose and more ham
than his predecessor. We have seen the lumbering mail
coach bearing its meager freight of stale news replaced by the
swift rural free delivery wagons whose faithful drivers
whether amidst summer's heat or winter's snow makes his
daily round, for in "All seasons;
' 'True to the charge he comes
With frozen locks and belted gown,
The herald of a noify world

News from all rations lumbering at his back,"
and delivers the metropolitan dailies at distant farm house be
fore the ink is dry.
But why undertake the task of recounting the myriad
miracles of this great industrial age? That the changes
wrought in our environment has resulted in manifold bless
ings goes without saying, and yet there are times when the
old timer may be pardoned his unspoken longings for the
freedom of other days. If Aristotle was right in his conten
tion that the soul of the free man was larger than that of the
slave, then the pioneer had a big soul, for no man ever en
joyed a larger degree of freedom or prized it more. If then
the restraints of civiliza'ion and the demands of the artificial
life prove irksome at times to those who once knew the larger
freedom, make allowances for them to pass on. Time is thin
ning their lanks and the old familiar places know them no
more. Their hunting grounds have been turned iuto cornfields,
and orchards bloom where once the forest grew. The log
cabins of our fathers have disappeared and the woodland path
that led down to the spring is obliterated. Only the eternal
hills remain the same. The gloves where once we worshipped
have been cut down and the old altars destroyed. We meet
friends of our youth, and as we look upon their faces scarred
by the wrinkles of care, and locks silvering for the harvest of
eternity, the conviction is forced upon us that we, too, have
changed and are growing old. Over all, the iconoclastic hand
of time has written "change "
But after all, it is better so. Better that these changes
should come, for
"I hold it truth with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping stones
Of their dead selves to higher things."
And the coming generations will mount by the steps our

hands have carved, and where our strength fails and our la
bors cease, they will begin with their new strength and with
unabated vigor climb to heights that we could never have
attained. From our schools , colleges and universities they will
come armed and equipped for the battle. Trained in the cur
riculum of required studies, in the laboratories, the shops
and upon athletic fields, they come, clean minded, clear eyed
and strong limbed ; alert, resourceful and with the courage
that is born of conscious power they will grapple with the
stupendous problems of the future and solve them.
Then let us be of good cheer. Let us go forward with
confidence to meet the future for
"God is in his heaven and all is well" and we can hold
out our hands to the coming generations and say with Whit
tier: "Hail to the coming singers,
Hail to the brave light-bringers ;
Forward we reach and share,
All that you do and dare."
"The winds of heaven blow o'er me,
And a glory shines before me,
Of what men shall be,
Pure, generous, brave and free."

A YOUNGER GENERATION.
It has been my purpose in the preceding sketches to tell
in simple direct language something of the lives and char
acters of a few of the early pioneers. I have not been writ
ing obituaries, have refrained from unwarranted posthumous
praise, and have not indulged in fulsome panegyrics of these
men. I have tried to obey Riley's injunction to
"Tell of things just like they wuz,
They.don't need no excuse ;
Don't tech 'em up like the poet does,
'Till they're all too fine for use ;
Say thar Wuz Teven in the fambly,
Two beds and a chist below,
And the trundle beds 'at each helt three,
And the clock and the old buro."
And so I have told their story, asking no praise for their vir
tues and offering no apology for their faults, only asking my
readers to bear in mind that these were strong, forceful,
virile men, their passions and prejudices uncurbed by the re
straining influences of culture and social contact, and if at
times when sorely tempted through the medium of appetite
they fell, I can only ask that you try to put yourself in their
place in order to awaken in your heart that broad charity for
human frailty that will lead you to say with Burns :
"Then gently scan your brother man,

Still gentler sister woman,
Though they may gang a kennin wrang,
To step aside is human.
One point must still be greatly dark,
The moving why they do it ;
And just as lamely can ye mark
How far perhaps they rue it,
"Who made the heart, 'tis He alone
Decidedly can try us;
He knows each chord — its various tone,
Each spring — its various bias ;
Then at the, balance let's be mute,
We never can adjust it ;
Whatfs done we partly may compute,
But know- not what's resisted."
There are many others of whom I would like to write..
The field is a wide one and rich ip material, but haying neith
er time nor talent I leave the task to abler , hands. I have
lifted the curtain of the past that , you might have , a brief
glimpse of the old Pathfinders, and now will ring it down and
let it rise Bgain upon the younger generation,
This younger generation to wh&h I belonged, was on the
whole about half civilized.. Our fathers may have enjoyed
some of the advantages of the cultpre and refinement afford
ed by thephier states, but. in the freedom of, the wilderness
they threw off;much of ! thig_ restraint, apd established a sort.
of .patriarchal form of _gpyernment, exacted laws for the gov
ernment pf their . families, ;aiid enforced them. There was a
tacit understanding thaj .the. boy owed.setvice and; obedience
to his father until. he was twenty-one years old, and as a rule
these. obligations. were faithfully and cheerfully met. When
the boy reached hi.S majority it, was also the custom for the
father to give, him, a. hsrse,. saddle, and; bridle, and, then if
the home nest was somewhat crowded (as. was usually the

* se) the lad was expected to try his full fledged wings in in
dependent flight and thus make room for the younger brood.
During his minority the boy worked in the fields- in sum
mer and in the woods in winter and when there was nothing
else to do in winter he could go to school. He became inured
to toil and hardships, but the hard conditions with which he
was surrounded did not prevent him from extracting a large -
amount of real enjoyment from life. His outdoor life, plain
substantial food and plenty of exercise developed his body
and he joyed in living much as the healthy young animal en
joys life.
Of necessity the boy lived close to nature. Brought into
daily contact, if not conflict, with the great untamed forces of
Dature his life became "a battle and a march." The love of
life and the instinct of self preservation were strong in him.
In time of danger he was quick to decide, prompt to act, and
he could be depended upon to put up a strong fight for exis
tence and if in the end he was overcome he went down "like
the she wolf, biting hard."
Although he was usually unlettered he was neither
ignorant nor unlearned. If he knew little of books, he had
yet gathered in the field of observation and experience much
of the material from which books are made. He reasoned,
too — whether by induction or deduction he could not have
told you, for he knew nothing of methods, and these terms
would have been meaningless to him— but for all that he
reasoned logically and usually arrived at correct conclusions.
Often in emergencies he was called upon to decide and act up
on his own judgment with full kr.owledge that an error meant
disaster . The roads were often little moi e than blazed trails,
the streams were not bridged, and the crossings often treach
erous, and sometimes it was necessary to cross them when
they were swollen by recent rains. His work in the timber
was not unattended by danger, for in felling trees they would
often lodge and it would be necessary to go in and cut away

the smaller trees that prevented them from falling. This
was always more or less dangerous, but the boy measured his
chances for success and generally succeeded. And so it was
by daily contact with conditions that compelled him to reason
that he acquired a mental grasp of things and grew and de
veloped into a clear brained "iron jointed, supple sinewed"
son of the soil who could do things.
Among the pioneer, artificial distinctions of wealth and
social position were unknown. One man was as good as an
other as long as he behaved himself. The daily life of the
people was much the same They shared each other's toil
and met upon a common level in a social way. The changing
seas ons brought a change in occupation, thus breaking the
du 11 monotony of existence. In the spring there was rail
fencing to be reset and repaired, plowing to be done, the
crop planted and the sheep to be sheared. In the interval be
tween the planting and cultivation of the corn crop we would
take a day off and go fishing.
There was but little pasture lands inclosed prior to the
close of the Civil war, and stock of all kinds had the free
range of the prairie where the blue stem grass afforded ex
cellent pasturage. In summer time the pioneer boy usually
began the day by rising in the cool gray dawn and starting
out on the prairie to drive up the work animals. The boy
would start upon his quest in a rather somnolent condition,
impressed with a feeling that the night had been all too short,
and that for him the gods could grant no sweeter boon than
to permit him to lie down in some fence corner and just sleep
on until his heavy eyelids would open wide of their own free
will. But presently the stamping of a sore toe,or the dew work
ing into grass cuts under his toes, would thoroughly arouse
him and he would perhaps "cuss" a little and wake up and
begin to take notice. Among other things he would proba
bly notice that the grass on the ridges was about waist high
while down in the swales it was over his head, and that

walking through it. while the dew was on was like wading a
river. Soon his tow linen breeches would be thoroughly
soaked and clinging to his legs, and the dew would be sting
ing the tops of his chapped bare feet, while the sharp stubble
where the old grass had been burned was pricking their cal
loused soles bike that many needles. But the boy soon
learned to walk over this stubble with a sliding motion and
by striking the sharp stubble obliquely he could walk with
much less discomfort. The boy usually knew about where to
look for the; horses. It might be a half mile, a mile, or even
farther from home and he was lucky indeed if, when he
found them, he could catch one and ride back. But it often
occurred that he was compelled to walk both ways, and return
ing hot and tired he would snatch a hasty breakfast and then
to the field, where with single shovel, bull tongue or diamond
plow he foil wed the long rows of corn while his bare legs
burned and his tow linen breeches grew shorter as they dried.
But there was some compensation in the change, for the cool
moist earth in the newly turned furrow felt gratefully sooth
ing to his tired feet. But even when plowing the barefoot
boy was exposed to constant peril, for snakes were plentiful
and some of them were so poisonous that their bite often
proved fatal. Of the poisonous kinds, the rattlesnake, cop
perhead, and spreading viper were the most dreaded. The
largest snake that I ever saw outside of captivity and "with
out the aid of licker," was a blacksnake which Jim Drum
mond and I once came across when we were little lads.
When we discovered the snake there was about two feet of
his tail protruding from an old stump. We grabbed the tail
and tried to pull the snake out, but the snake swelled up un
til his body filled the hole so tight that we could scarcely budge
it. But we hung on and finally Jim announced that it was
"coming." Thus encouraged we made another strong pull
and released what we thought was plenty for one snake and

Jim let go and told me to hold it 'while he spit on his hands.
After rperforming*this*operatidn Jito'tedught" of sometiririg
e<seae Heiwastbemostthotighllful^oyTWersaw. Jim^sat^
for*,metfo just kWp»os"pftlling^stlie0sn1akeswass Istill" cbmihg
aUrrightanAheiwtratd'staad 'K? with* tfif "ailind cthVitf head
off: when it?wa1s»aftot««!.' Well«J tim# s^iitke^uWkerJfc cbmihg.
WiieniaboulMKix (feet of it was? outwiih More to ff6fl$W i' ¥ug
gested to Mm lfe#he cut it rntW8|6s>rt!eVeT;Was e^ougn?sna*ke oh
thesoutside to sMstisfafs-any tfeasctobl^p^rsdn^ But Jlntwls a
r&gnlarAtSg wheniit «afi&fe to snakes. He'^'never frrew* when
he 4*atjeoa^hs JAtter-tte'sting '%- moment wFth^ti witfPH
strong lpull released'the realaif der. *' A^s-the Wake^l^eloPap-
peasred>Jiintattei!e#« *&^ge^eM#nd beganNd ^sMtf *ftJt with
tha<a» ,^he*wkd.mea-8»red'^^*¥e^%rte' itMis. m ' i'm>
! „ The prairfeBBiifetlesnakfrWA^^the7 !mtJst LHr*e&dea*f "both on
accoun1S(«MtsE9iea^l^lteii:*fld*e ^i^^wM^hi^h il could'
catiband strike. ^vMWas^ucbsn%alIe¥«Bfali «W8*- tinJberell '"va
riety,, brangmreelyiwer 'two ¦^riaN^S-lilf' 'feet '* fbtg^f®
swiad df the Ba*t4tet'1««War;iSng Wole slSented^to fbuch sBme hnf?
d&n'spri^fe thebar'efSDteda fc&y*s» a'nWmy11 #hfc¥*:Vou'iif
c«nse ten to maiteoWii'o&liMse tple bftckwWa lelp¥rnatHon-s
ly oatavteiiMi'8BOurian8Iieafi«ex«G'utrf "gracefully and!'%itir' re"-'
quired wteKtysw au.> k i*®***"* *n ^r "<'. «." ««"">£ *'-''*- °!f'
t|»fl remeaiber once when plowing eorn something caught
on the p©ki^?D*the*#oWf4>B*lliliriSiflg OK* ifffife a^ibrn stiff s
I toiTOd thefu^ost^^ le-'1
nmm.it, batf jui^*h%n:l«i6tid^l'a «Wri^pinf 'Intss'dh ffie p^int"
ofetbe p4o% andstihe teadiftfK pttffltaCtNBbtW'feAftKl ' 'out*
and bl^amto s«kdavi<itoiltel^.i ~»^»H^^lers^ ^n% • taif
aBAllbe«aIK!tos»a1«le•^urio«#^, I Waapl^ng^^ff-oid^lray^1
horse t^ateiwtosa^ntl^afi#inind,ed^l»#%6Taio welFtnatrf''
had,tiedttp)'th«ili«es«oW1 ^^ftftffi^fM^feriti^s* fie* hor^se
wafisiniotheiT: refepeotirhe ha*d«a deadly terror*' JWr 'snakis and1'
hmno soonwhear**at*attiIer tha#'B¥ staWea Md so v*ar a%' '
nr: n -nwa ,«-.%;> -wil ',*»» :,<.-'«'>< «•«¦ a-' *'" '^ '*•*"' »- :•>. <' ¦ ;>¦

I was able to judge broke all his previous records in getting
out of the field. I do not know what became of the snake.
At another time I was binding in oats that had been cut the
day before when I picked up a spreading viper with a bundle
and just as I had the sheaf under my arm in the act of put
ting the band around it the snake glided out, went up over
my shoulder and thence to the ground while I engaged in a war
dance that would have done credit to a Comanche Indian. It
took some time to restore confidence to the extent that I could
handle a bundle of oats without first assaying it for snakes.
And so it seemed sometimes to the pioneer boy that old
Father Time kept a keen edge on his tcythe and was always
looking for an opportunity to gather him in ; and that the
pale rider on his white horse often passed uncomfortably
near, but somehow from day to day he managed to dodge
both and grow up .
And as the boy toiled through the week in the heat and
dust how he would long for Saturday night and how gladly
he welcomed it when it came. After he had done his
chores and washed the grime from his calloused feet he would
sit on the door step and listen to the katydids in the old lo
cust trees, and the whippoorwills down in the woods, and
dream of the morrow and one long sweet day of rest. And
there would come to him visions of a shady woodland path
fringed with violets and sweetwilliams that led down to the
cooling shadows of the creek and the "old swimming hole"
and he would lie down with a sigh of perfect content and
soon be wrapped in dreamless sleep.

JAMESPORT IN THE EARLY DAYS.
In telling the story of the earlv days of Jamesport it is
perhaps best to go back a little and first tell something of
James Gillilan (or Gilliland as the older members of this
family spelled their name) and of some of the other old fam
ilies of that vicinity.
The Gillilans came from Virginia, the eldest member of
this numerous family being a certain Nathan Gilliland, who
lived in Bath county, Va. This county was afterwards di
vided and Pocahontas county was formed from a part of it.
Here lived the Gililands and to the best of their ability
obeyed the primal command to "multiply and replenish the
earth." John Gillilan, a son of the Nathan above mentioned,
married Mary Waddell, aud to them were born twelve chil
dren — six boys, Nathan, Alexander, James, William, John
and Samuel; six girb-, Catherine, Mary, Elizabeth, Jane, El
len, Ann and Rebecca.
Of these we have to do only with James in this sketch.
On the 19th day of August, 1837, James Gillilan and Eliza
beth G. Edmiston were married in Pocahontas county, Va.,
and two years iater emigrated to Missouri and stopped in
Randolph county for a short time and then settled in Daviess

eonnfcy, where for half a century he made his home. To
James and Elizabeth Gillilan there were born eight children,
four of whom died in infancy. Of the other four, three were
girls — Mary, who is now the widow of N. G. Cruzen, and
lives in Gallatin ; Anna, wife of George W. Miller ;and Lydia,
who died many years ago. There was a son, Nathan, who
died when about 18 years old.
In 1852 James Gillilan made the trip overland to Cali
fornia, but returned the following year and bought the farm
upon which he afterwards located the town of Jamesport.
There never was a more generous hearted man than
James Gillilan. As long as he had a home tbe latch string
hung out and all who entered found a simple whole sonled hos
pitality that made them feel just like home folks. When
yju went to his house the family didu't put on their best
clothes and their company manners and smother you with at
tention. They just gave you a friendly welcome and went
about their accustomed tasks an 1 left you free to enjoy your
self. Aunt Bettie, perhaps, never presided at a social func
tion, never "entertained" with pink teas or six o'clock din
ners, but I will venture the assertion that in no home in Da
viess courity were there ever fed and lodged more people than
in the hospitable home of James and Beitie Gillilan.
Elizabeth Gillilan died in 1889 and ten years later, Sept.
19th, 1899, James Gillilan passed away and was buried be
side his wife and children near Jamesport.
In the early days settlements were only found in the
timbered district, hence neighborhoods were often widely sep
arated by intervening stretches of prairie. This was so of
the neis<hborho id where I wa< bom, and the "Auberry
Grove," a- the settlement to the north was called. Among
the first settlers in the last named neighborhood were the
Callisons, Franklin and James, and James F., a nephew of

the other two. Here also came James P. Drummond, Robert
Foster, Andrew W. Gay, the Gillilans, Millers, McClungs
and Hills, along with a number of other settlers who from
time to time put in an appearance and put their shoulders to
the wheel of civilization to make it go round.
Thomas Auberry, above referred to, was an all round
sort of a man, just such a man as would prove useful in a
primitive settlement. It is said thst as a justice of the peaee
he meted out justice, mingled with mercy, and supplemented
his lack of legal learning by a plentiful supply of horse sense.
He could preach a funeral, preside at a wedding, shoe a
horse, take up the corner of a cabin, compound panaceas
from roots and "yarbs" which he gathered from nature's
laboratory, was a good judge of a race horse and usually
ready to back his favorite against the field, and there is even
a lingering tradition that he was not entirely ignorant of the
mysteries of "seven up " Besides all this he was an accom
modating neighbor, a true friend and a congenial companion.
In many ways he was useful to his day and generation and
after all, the world was better for his having lived.
The first marriage in this neighborhood was that of
Richard Hill and Miss Ann Gillilan. This was in 1841, and
the marriage ceremony was performed by Isaac Jordin, a jus
tice of the peace. There were five children born of this mar
riage, James C, Elizabeth E., Mary J., Josephine C, and an
other child whose name I do not know. His first wife dying
in 1851, Richard married Nancy Jane Miller, and the result
of this marriage was three children, Ella, John C, and Bu
chanan .
Richard Hill was a native of Pocahontas and settled in
this county in 1837. He was a son of John Hill, who was
born in Virginia in 1792, and who married Elizabeth Poage,
also ajVirginian, and born the same year. To this union were

born the following named child; en : Richard, William P.
Robert, Davis,' George, Thomas, Elizabeth and Mary. In the
spring of 1851, John Hill came to Missouri and bought, the
Thomas Auberry farm, where he resided during the remain
der of his life.
Of these children, Robert died single, Davis married
Elizabeth McNeel, and reared three chi'dren, George, Thom
as and Maggie. Thomas Hill died single at the age of 27
years. George married Mary E. McNeel. They reared four
children, Oscar, Burton, Frank and Auuie. Elizabeth mar
ried Hamptou Hamilton and to them were born nine chil
dren. Mary W. never married. She still lives upon the old
homestead, manages her fine farm, understands and oversees
personally every detail, whether it be the planting and har
vesting of crops or the buying and se'ling of stock. Miss
Hill has proven herself to be an excellent farmer and busi
ness woman. But this is not all, for by her life she has
demonstrated that a woman can manage a farm and yet lose
nothing of that quiet dignity and gentle refinement that ev^r
marks the true woman. Per hap.- 'he mo t regretable thing
about Miss Hill is the fact that such a very excellent ladv
should choose to "lend her graces to the grave and leave the
world no copy "
Wm P. Hill, another son of John Hill, came to this
county iu 1855 and settled upon a farm one mile west of where
Jamesport i.ow stands. Mr Hill engaged in farming and
blacksmith ing, and by hard work, god management and
economy accumulated a considerable amount of property.
Before leaving Virginia he was united in marriage with Eliz
abeth Poage, a rister of Rankin and S. D. B. Poage, who
lived in this county for many years The date of Mr. Hill's
birth was October 3rd, 1818, that of his wife, May 26th,
1816. Both were natives of Pocahontas county, Virginia. Of

the eight children born to them only the following are still
living: George W., Davis, Mrs. Mary E. Leonard, wife of
Samuel Leonard, and Mrs. Virginia Henderson, all of whom
reside in Jamesport.
Wm. P. Hill died October 19, 1884. His wife is still
living and in the enjoyment of good health in the 90th year
of her age.
James P. Drummond was another of the early settlers of
the "Auberry Grove" neighborhood. Like a majority of the
early settlers of this community Mr. Drummond was a Vir
ginian, having been born in Monroe county, Sept. 25th, 1813.
On June 14, 1846, he was united in marriage with Miss Syd
ney Nickell who was also of the same county. In 1839 Mr.
Drummond came to Daviess county and the same year en
tered 160 acres of land. Eleven children came to bless their
home. Of these Margaret N. became the wife of Matthew R.
Mann; Elizabeth E. married Jesse Baldwin ; Amanda J., wife
of Amos Musselman ; Mary, wife of R. M. Barnett ; George
W. and Andrew were twins. George died several years ago.
William N., at present the presiding judge of the county
court; John K. ; Caroline, wife of W. E. Jenkins; James M.,
ard Charles W. Mr. Drummond's first wife died in Novem
ber, 1856, and en July 14th, 1859, he was united in marriage
with Miss Maria F. Mann, who was a daughter of John Mann,
one of the earlv settlers of this county.
Mr. Drummond engaged in farming and stock raising
upon an extensive scale, and at the time of his death, a few
years ago, was the owner of a square section of the finest
farming land in Daviess county besides a large amount of
other property. His second wife is still living in Jamesport,
Missouri. James P. Drummond was a man of indomitable will,
pluck and perseverance. He seldom asked advice and was

usually slow to accept it when offered. When once em
barked upon an undertaking he followed the course marked
out by his judgment, and if he succeeded he did not boast, if
he failed he did not complain. To him a promise given was
a sacred thing, to be redeemed at whatever cost. He lived an
active life of usefulness, honored and respected by those who
knew him best, and when his work was ended, passed on.
The Callisons, Franklin and James and James F , a
nephew of the first two, were among the early arrivals. Of
the early history of this family I know but little. They were
Virginians, but I think that their ancestors were from Tenn
essee. James and Franklin Callison ranked among the
wealthiest farmers of the county. In addition to farming and
stock raising, Franklin Callison also engaged in merchan-
disingfor many years, and held many mi nor positions of trust
in the community where he resided.
The Gillilan family was well represented. There were
Nathan, Samuel, Alex, John and their families. Nathan
was at one time reputed to be the wealthiest citizen of the
county. His home farm consisted of 800 acres of fine prai
rie land well improved, the residence and barns being located
near the center of the tract from which a fine view of his
broad acres and sleek herds of cattle could be had. Here he
lived like some old baron of feudal times and gave royal en
tertainment to his friends. He had a good library for the
time, and had read much of history, biography and the cur
rent literature. At his home, out ou the farm, he was tbe
soul of old fashioned courtesy and good breediug, but when
he cams to town he would gather around him a lot of congen
ial spirits, and they would have the times of their lives, Na
than paying the bills like a gentleman. At such times hewas
liberal to a fault, and if he liked you lie generally wanted to
make you a present. Soon after I located in Jame->port he

came to me one day and asked me to take charge of a number
of tenant houses that he owned in the town. My instructions
were brief. I was to rent to whomever I could, charge all that
I could get, and if a tenant failed to pay, put him out. It
was perhaps six months before I had an opportunity to talk
with him again. In the meantime I had met with good suc
cess in collecting renus and had quite a neat sum to turn over.
I found him in Pendy Mann's store and after we had com
pleted our settlement Nathan called Pendy to him and told
him to give me the best overcoat in the house. I demurred to
this as he had already allowed me all that I thought my ser
vices were worth, but Pendy had the coat to sell and he cut
short all objections, and I was soon in possession of not only
the best, but the first overcoat I ever owned.
The first child born in the Auberry Grove settlement was
James C. Hill, son of Richard and Ann Hill. The year of
his birth was in 1841.
The first death was a child of a Mr. Liggett, who died in
1838 and was buried in what is still known as the Hill grave
yard. The first regular physician who settled in this communi
ty was Dr. Carr.
Abraham Millice, a Methodist, did the first preaching in
a log cabin on section 28. At about the same time Robert
Morgan, a Presbyterian minister, held services at the house
of Robert Miller.
The first school was taught in an old log cabin on the Au
berry farm. This was in 1838 and Lewis McCoy was the
teacher. He received six dollars per month for six pupils
aud "boarded around." The first school house was built on
the John Hill place. James H B. McFerran, afterwards a
banker and lawyer in Gallatin and later a millionaire mine
owner of Colorado, was the first teacher. He had seven or eight

pupils and received two dollars from each for a session of three
months. He too, must have "boarded around," otherwise he
would have been in debt at the end of the term. No wonder
he changed his Occupation.

JAMESPORT IN THE EARLY DAYS.
[CONTINUED]
I had been in Jamesport about a year when I was elected
constable. I never knew how it happened, for I was not a
candidate that I ever knew of. I suppose that no one else
wanted the job and my name was put on the ticket just to fill
up. Shortly afterwards Franklin Callison, who was chair
man of the town board, called me into his office one day and
told me that I had been appointed town marshal. Honors
were coming fast, but I had made up my mind to take what
ever the gods might send and ask no questions. I soon found
that the marshal's office was not a sinecure. But I had made
up my mind to read law and be admitted to the bar and it
was necessary to do something in the meantime to pay ex
penses, so I donned the star and was ready for duty. I shall
never forget my first arrest. A husky, hoop pole shaver got
gloriously drunk, chased the proprietor of the hotel off the
premises and took possession. As soon as I heard of the
disturbance I started for the seat of war and was met by the
proprietor of the hotel who told me what a bad man I had to
deal with ; that he would probably murder me, and a few oth
er things calculated to reassure me and quiet my nerves. I

found the bellicose gentleman sitting in the hotel office armed
with a big cheese knife. As I entered he arose, said that he
was running the hotel and wanted to know what he could do
for me. All the time he was getting closer to me and there
was a diabolical grin upon his countenance and he kept on
talking. I promptly drew my pistol and ordered him to stop.
He did so. "Now drop that knife." Rather reluctantly he
obeyed this command also. Then I seized him by the arm
and started toward the door. He pulled back and cried out,
"Hold on now, what does all this mean anyhow?" "It means
that I am the town marshal and you are under arrest," said I.
"Well, why in the hell didn't you say so before and not
come around here a pintin' your pistol at a peaceable law
abidin' citizen an' a lookin' like the devil before day an' a
tryin' to skeer the life outen him all fer nuthin'. I aint done
nuthin' to be 'rested fur noway" — and here the big brute be
gan to blubber. I was never so disgusted in my life. And I
had actually been frightened by this gibbering idiot.
But as marshal, I had plenty to do. The woods were full
of tie makers and with two saloons running wide open, Satur
days and especially Saturday nights were usually pretty live
ly. The feeling of timidity that I had at first experienced
soon wore off and gave place to indifference.
One of the worst street fights that occurred while I was
marshal was between the Gillilans and Carters and their
friends. It began over the killing of a dog and the two fac
tions met in Jamesport one Saturday to settle their differ
ences. The engagement began about four o'clock in the af
ternoon and when it started everybody seemed to be ready to
take a hand. In a moment the street was filled with a howl
ing mob, clubs and brickbats were flying in every direction
and men were pummelling each other with their fists. Oliver
Gillilan seemed to be taking a leading part and I made a

dash for him and succeeded in getting him out of the crowd
and, turning him over to a bystander with orders to guard
him, I started back after another man. I had gone but a short
distance when Gillilan, who had broken loose from his guard,
passed me, going like the wind and yelling like a demon.
But just as he passed me a brickbat, took him in the jaw and
he went down like a log. I ran to him and raised him up,
saw it was a case for the doctors, perhaps the coroner, and
laid him down again. This had the effect of quieting the
crowd and the fight stopped as suddenly as it had begun. As
I recollect now, I arrested seventeen men for participating in
that fight.
I never had any serious trouble with but one man in mak
ing arrests. It was during the first fair held at that place
and the usual gang of toughs and gamblers were on hand.
The council had sworn in three special policemen to assist me
during the fair and we had our hands full all the time. For
the first three diys and nights I did not undress, but snatched
a few hours' sleep whenever I could. On the third night I
released the other men after midnight, as they were all older
than I and badly iu need of rest, and patroled the town alone
until about daylight, when, everything being quiet, I went to
my room. I had just 'got to sleep {when someone came to the
door and awoke me and said that I was wanted to arrest a man
down at the hotel. I hastily dressed and on opening the door
was handed a warrant and told that I would find the man at
the hotel. The man who had brought the warrant volun
teered to go with me and point out the man who was wanted.
He did this and as we approached the hotel he pointed to a
man standing in front of tho building and said that that Was
the man. I approached him and told him to consider him
self under arrest.
"Upon what charge?" he asked.

I unfolded the warrant and iu the dim light of early
dawn began reading it to him. When I reached the charge,
which was that of passing counterfeit money, he suddenly
stopped me by saying:
"What are you giving me anyway?"
I looked up and found myself looking down the barrel of
a long shiny pistol and the man behind the gun looked Hke
he would shoot. I folded up the paper with the remark that
if that was the way he proposed to play the game that I was
unprepared and would have to go back and get ready. With
that I turned and went down the street to Bunker's hardware
store. Charlie Potter had just opened up and I walked in
and took down a shot gun and a couple of cartridges. Going
out on the street I happened to meet John Peery and A. C.
McCord and told them what was up and asked them to go
along, which they readily consented to do. On arriving at
the hotel we found that our man had left. We soon saw him
going out of town by the north road and we followed. We
were gaining on him rapidly when he reached the corner of
Andrew Gay's pasture. There he left the road and was lost
to view for a time. When we again saw him he had reached
his horse, which had been tied in the pasture, and was mak
ing for a gap there was in the fence. I immediately started
for the gap to head him off aad got there just ahead of him.
He dashed up to within about 15 feet of me, suddenly stopped
his horse, dropped to the ground, and keeping the horse be
tween us, began to shoot. I could see nothing but the top of
his head as he would raise up to shoot and I waited until he
fired the third time, thinking to get a better show at him.
But as he came up the fourth time I fired first, the small
shot tearing away the top of his hat and inflicting slight flesh
wounds. He then turned and ran a short distance, when he
came to a small ravine which he jumped aud turned to fire at

me again. But McCord had seen him coming and had stopped
behind a tree and waited until he jumped the branch, then as
he turned to fire at me McCord stepped- out and covered him
and ordered him to drop, his pistol; Rayburn (for that as I
afterwards learned was his name) still hesitated, looking first
at McCord and then at me. But by this time I had him cov
ered with the shotgun and I told McCord to shoot first as he
was nearest and if he failed I thought that I could get him.
At that Rayburn reluctantly dropped his pistol to the ground
and we marched him back.
Lueien Oliver, who had filed the charge against Ray
burn, had become alarmed and had left town at once on heai*-
ing of Raybura's purest. As there was no other witness
against him Raybr'.-n was at once discharged. A short time
afterwards Franklin Callison cime to me and said that Ray
burn had openly r-mounced his intention to kill me before he
left town, and strongly advised that I hunt Rayburn up and
kill him. I thanked Mr. Callison for the warning but de
clined to take his advice. I armed myself and went out,
and sat down on the stile block in front of Pendy Mann's
store. Soon I saw Rayburn coming up the street. He still
wore the remnant of his hat, the blood had run down over his
face and dried in tiny streaks. When about twenty feet
away he looked up and saw me, hesitated a "noment and came
on and stopped in front of me. I wore a loose sack coat and
had my hand on my gun in my pocket. As Rayburn stopped
I slid my pocket around so that my gun covered him. He saw
the morion and understood. He started to talk about the
way he bad been treated, but I stopped him by spying that if
there was anything further to settle* between us that now was
the time. "But you have the drop on me," said he. "Yes,
and I will kill you if you don't leave town at once and never
return," I replied. We stood looking into each other's eyes

fo/ about a minute, neithe* speaking a word; 'hen he re-
in-irked quietly, "I'll go," and turned and walked away and I
neve • saw him afterwards.
But while there were occasion il outbreaks, as a iale the
town was qr et aid peaceable. It was a gi-eat Saturday
town, and the principal part of its busine-ii was disposed of
on that day. This left five days in the week when its
business men were left to their owa resources to relieve
the ennui of existence. Out of these conditions there arose
the most inveterate band of practical jokers that I ever knew.
There was John Q. Smith, tall, slim, prematurely bald,
wiJi "Eyes that looked like two frLi eggs
And a nose like a bartlett pear."
And when he laughed the tears would stream from his eyes,
and he ever talked in bobbing tones tha ., were as sad as the
wail of a losi: child crying foj.' its dead mother ; and yet he was
the worst of the lot. He used .o divide time pretty evenly
between the lumber yard and the saloon. He used to decide
that he was forced to waste lots of good liquor because his
eyes leaked, and would wish that he oor'-.d have them set up
higher on his head so that he could hold more.
Capt. Simms came along as a close second, Simms
was well educated and was a ready ¦« riter and a fluent
taker. One day "Crooked Neck" John Martin, an iller-
ate saloon keeper, asled the Captain to write a letter
for him to a widow with whom Martin had become greatly
enamo?ed. Simms complied and portrayed Martin's burning
passion in a lengthy epistle "overflowing with the exuber
ance of thought and the splendor of diction. ' ' Simms read the
letter to Martin, who listened attentively, and when the read-
ng was finished he remarked : "Cap, that's a purty damned

good letter. Jest say down there at the bottom, excuse pore
writin' and bad spellin', and let her go." '
Simms was employed as a railroad mail clerk and was
killed and his body burned to a crisp in a wreck near Win
ston, Mo. Maj. McGee of Gallatin was in the car with Simms
at the time of the wreck, but escaped with slight injuries.
Then there was Ab Carman, Dick IsherwooH, Jim Wy-
more, W. G. Callison, W. J. Gillilan, Joe X. Wright, A. P.
Shour and a number of others whose names I do not recall
who were always ready to lend a helping hand if a practical
joke was to be worked off. Sometimes the gang would select
one of their own number as a victim, and again they would
all combine against some outsider.
One winter they made the Gazette office their head
quarters. Here they played cards nightly, the stake being a
superanuated old pony; and according to the rules of the
game, whoever won the pony had to pay its board at the liv
ery stable where it was kept.
There was a younger set who followed closely in the steps
of the older ones and went them a few better on some occa
sions. Among these were J. R. Faulkner, Sam and Halleck
Buzzard, Lon Champlain, Will and Frank Casey, Frank Da
vis, Pat Faulk, Jim Paris, "Doc" Groves, Will Lorrentz,
John Mann and perhaps several others whose names escape
me now. I never knew of them doing any serious harm to
person or property, but they would can every dog that they
could catch, "tic tac" houses, egg a party of barn stormers,
and initiate every new comer who showed the slightest dis
position to be "fresh." When William Curtis started a res
taurant there they took him in charge at once, and most of
the gang took their meals at his restaurant for a time, and
they managed things in such a way that Curtis was either
wading up to his ears in the "slough of despond," or walk
ing on the clouds with his head among the stars.

Curl is owned a little trtct of stony land some five or six
miles from town and some of the gang suddenly discovered
that there was a mineral spring of great value upon it. A
little later it was rumored that someone had secured an analy
sis of the water from this spring and that it contained won
derful curative qualities. Curtis received a friendly tip that
a secret investigation of his spring had been made and that a
syndicate was being formed to buy it. The gang worked
slowly. They were in no hurry and for a time toyed with
their victim. Someone suggested that if a barrel of the water
was kept at the restaurant that it would prove a great attrac
tion. Curtis acted upon the suggestion at once and a team
was sent to the country and the barrel installed. The boys
would stand around the barrel and sip the water and discuss
its merits in grave tones. Nobody laughed or said flippant
things about that water. It was too serious a matter. All the
time Curtis stood around dreaming golden dreams and having
visions of wealth beyond the dreams of avarice. His good
fortune made him generous, and the tables were loaded with
the freshest and best t hat the market afforded. We had
twelve side dishes at breakfast, dinner was a banquet and
supper a gastronomic vision of delight. After each meal Cur
tis would pass cigars around. No one refused to take at
least one; some would show their appreciation by taking a
half dozen.
One day when things were ripe Curtis was approached
with an offer to buy his land, but he was shy and declined to
fix a selling price. Then the would be buyer appeared to get
anxious, and offered a thousand dollars. Curtis was indig
nant. Such an offer was an insult. Five thousand was bid,
but awakened no interest. Ten thousand, and Curtis only
smiled a knowing smile and shook his head. The bidder
paused. He had apparently reached the limit of his pile. He

gave Curtis a sorrowful look and went away. Curtis waited,
expecting other aud better offers, but they never came.
Theu it began to be whispered about that Curtis 's res
taurant was haunted, and some of his boarders left. Cuitis
borrowed a huge pistol and vowed his intention to -hoot the
first "hant" that he found fooling around his place The
next night several of his boarders, headed by Andy Jackson,
came rushing wild-y down stairs and said that the ghost bad
been in their rooms. Curtis grabbed his pistol and rushed
upstairs in time to see a white robed figure flit through a win
dow, drop to a roof below and disappear in the darkness.
Curtis fired several shots at the retreating figure, but as the
pistol was loaded with blank cartridges, no damage was done.
At the end of six months Curtis was ' 'all in' ' and the
gang was looking for a new victim.
At another time a young gentleman from Texas blew in
to town and began to cut a pretty wide swath. Pretty soon
the gang sat up and began to take notice. One Sunday after
noon one of the gang suddeuly conceived a great liking for
the gentleman from the "Lone Star" state, and invited him
to take a walk. When they reached the woods, west of town,
a bottle was produced and the Texan invited to irrigate. He
did so. About the time the bottle was emptied some more of
the gang happened along. They were provided with wine
Would the gentleman try some of the wine? The gentleman
would, and he did. Then they changed him back to whiskey
straight and the gentleman was soon feeling so highly exhil-
erated that he was ready for anything. By this time it was
dark and someone proposed that all adjourn to Callison's
spring, build a fire and have a chicken roast. The Texan
thought that would be just the thing and when someone vol
unteered the information that he knew where a hen and six
half grown chickens, belonging to Wes Gillilan, roosted, he

was at once sent to confiscate them. A fire was soon burning
at the spring, the chickens were divided around, the old hen
falling to the Texan. Some of the boys fixed the chicken on
a stick for their guest and he proceeded to cook it. Being
rather uncertain in his movements he dropped it in the fire
several times, but each time it was rescued. Finally the boys
told him that his chicken was done and he proceeded to try to
eat it. But there was more gristle than tenderloin about that
ancient foul and there was also an aroma of burnt feathers
not altogether appetizing. The Texan would set his teeth in
the half cooked flesh and then pull, but the ancient sinews
held firm. No one could charge the Texan with lack of ener
gy or that there was any evidence of bad faith in his efforts
to masticate the fowl. Like Bill Nye's hero, "He did his
damndest and angels could do no more."
Finally the feast broke up in a sham fight during the pro
gress of which Will Lorrentz cried out that he wa-i stubbed
and fell to the ground, feebly crying for help As the Texan
was a giant in stature it was suggested that he carry Lorrentz
back to town, which by the way, was about a half mile and
up hill most of the way. The Texan was badly excited and
readily agreed. Lorrentz was loaded on his back aud the toil
some journey began. Whenever the Texan would show signs
of weariness and talk of stopping to rest Lorrentz would de
clare that he was bleeding to death and urge him to hurry
on. So the trip was made, Lorrentz carried to his room and
deposited in bed.
It is perhaps unnecessary to add that the Texan left town
the next day and never returned.

JAMESPORT IN THE EARLY DAYS.
[CONTINUED]
And so it was from small beginnings like these that the
country grew. There was a steady increase in population
and wealth from year to year, so that in 1858 the discerning
ones saw the necessity for a new town that would afford the
settlement a trading place nearer home. There had been
some talk of a town north of where Jamesport now stands,
and I am not certain but what some steps had been taken
towards its establishment ; but when in 1858 James Gillilan
laid out the town of Jamesport and built a store house, and
the firm of Gillilan & Philpot had actually put in a stock of
goods, all thought of the rival town was abandoned. Then
there was Dr. James T. Allen, just graduated from the Vir
ginia Medical College, at Richmond, young, active and am
bitious, aud one of the chief promoters of the new enterprise,
who showed his faith by his works, and hung out his shingle
in the embryotic metropolis; this taken in connection with
the fact that Faulkner & Jordin had opened a "grocery"
where all could allay their thirst fixed the new town upon a sol
id foundation. About the same time, Ben Cook, plasterer by
profession, located here and the town began to boom; so that
by 1860 it had a population of 59 people. But the following

year the fledgling boom withered in the shadow of the war
eloud that lowered upon the horizon. With the first mutter
ings of the approaching storm, the young, the able bodied,
all that were fit, abandoned tlieir usual occupations and start
ed to the front. Aud they went as blithely as a lot of school
boys out for a holiday. Some thought that the war would be
over in three months, others said it might take six months to
settle it. If war had to come, it is perhaps just as well that
those who were to take part, in it did not know. It is well
that they could not forecast the horoscope of the future, for if
they could have done so, could have seen all the stricken
fields heaped with the dead and wounded, the hospitals from
which even the strongest came forth mere shadows of their
former selves, and worst of all the loathsome prisons where
men were crowded until the fetid air bred pestilence and
death. If they could have seen this, and then shifted ' the
scene to the thousands of homes made desolate, where gray
haired mothers wept unavailing tears, where widows and or
phans mourned the husband and father who would never return
— if they eould have seen all this, and more, for the horrors
of war can never be told, then they would have said let us settle
our differences in some other way. Ingersoll once said that
"Savages settle their own diffetences, civilized men allow
their differences to be settled by others." Victor Hugo said
that the social body was infested with parasites, and in order
to regain its strength it must get rid of the parasites. Among ,
these parasites he said that the priest, the judge and the sol
dier were the worst. If Hugo will allow the substitution of
politician for judge in the foregoing statement I would be in
clined to agree with him. The world would have more chris
tians if there were fewer priests to wrang.e over creeds and
dogmas. It would have better citizens if there were no poli
ticians to lead them astray ; and if we could eliminate these

two parasites fiom the social body the soldiers' occupation
would be practically gone. For it is a fact borne out by
history that a majority of the wars that' have devastated the
world can be traced either directly or indirectly to religious
fanaticism or political ambition.
During the year 1861 a detachment belonging to the 53rd
regiment, Illinois Volunteers, visited Jamesport and complete
ly wrecked the store of James (jillilan. They proceeded to
pour out pepper, spice, salt and other condiments on the floor,
then took the stock of patent medicines and broke the bottles
over this mass of stuff and in one way and another demolished
the stock. Mr. Gillilan, after the destruction of his stock of goods,
retired to his farm, where he remained during the war.
Prior to the war Dr Allen had been instrumental in get
ting a postoffiee establisheded in Jamesport aud for a time it
boasted a daily mail service But when the war came on the
service languished and fell into a. state of "innocuous desue
tude." Later a weekly service from Chillicothe to Bethany
via Jamesport was established. The most remarkable thing
about this service was the charming irregularity of the carrier's
arrival. He never started unless the sign was right, but if
after consulting the oracles, pouring out a few libations, and
the auguries were propitious he procured the mail bag, which
usually weighed more than the mail, and mounting his steed
started on his journey. If nothing occurred to impede his
progress he would probably arrive at his destination. But
there were manv things along the road to attract the atten
tion of the carrier, particularly if he was at all inquisitive.
For instance, upon au occasion one of these cariers was mean
dering peacefully along when he suddenly came upon an en
thusiastic crowd of citizens near old Spring Hill, who were
industriously engaged in hanging a man. Of course in a

case of this kind the mail would have to wait while the car
rier took in the show. After the performance was over he
dutifully resumed his interrupted journey. The carrier was
long afterwards indicted on the charge of having taken part
in the hanging, but succeeded in convincing those in authori
ty that he was not a particeps criminis, but merely "a looker
on in Venice."
My memory of Jamesport dates back to 1863, and I have
a dim recollection of a little cluster of small unpainted wood
en buildings, an old log barn that stood close in, and of a
cornfield enclosed by a staked and ridered rail fence that
came up close enough to the town to afford a place for hitch
ing horses. Here I used to come occasionally for the neigh
borhood mail, and I remember that when the mail arrived
the postmaster would dump the contents out upon the counter
and proceed to read the names on letters and other parcels of
mail aloud. If the name of any person in the crowd was
called he would claim the parcel, and the reading would pro
ceed. When the end was reached the postmaster would
gather up the remnants and stow them away in some con
venient place until called for.
During the war, while there was some attempt made to
keep up a semblance of civil authority, the country was prac
tically under military rule. As a result of this minor of
fenses among the civilian class were either condoned or
ignored. But it can be truly said to the credit of the people
of Daviess county that even during those turbulent days there
was little lawlessness among them. Men did right, not from
fear of punishment, but rather from the higher motive of do
ing right for right's sake. True, there were occasional lapses,
as the following incident illustrates : I had gone to James
port to get my boots mended. The only shoemaker in the
town at that time was William Smith, who lived in a little

shanty, located near the place where the Presbyteri m ehu-ch
now stands. I found S nith. bi hid, his hsi-l, faci and neck
swathed in bandages, and upon iuquiring the cau-e cf his
trouble was informed by his wife that Smith had been artis
tically carved about the face and neck by John D. Gillilan
the preceding night. Smith was sti'l gloriously drunk and
lny tossing on the bed, dividing time between prayer for re
lief and oaths and imprecations and dire threats of vengeance
against the man who had "Damn nigh cut his juggler "
Smith insisted upon showing me his wounds, and I could not
well refuse to look when he had removed the bandage, dis
playing a long slash beginning on the forehead and running
down across one cheek, and another beginning under one ear
and extending around under his chin, just grazing the jugular
vein. After exhibiting hi* wounds Smith laid down again
and his wife, who was a big red headed Amazon who chewed
tobacco and was a better shoemaker than her husband, pro
ceeded to fix my boots. As the boots were the only ones I
had I was compelled to wait while they were being repaired.
While this was being done Smith lay on the bed watching the
street through a window. Presently he sprang from the bed
with an oath and seizing a long barreled squirrel rifle rushed
out of the house declaring that he would "get him." I fol
lowed in time to see John D., who had evidently seen Smith,
bending low in the saddle and going down the street like the
wind. Smith was so weak from the loss of blood that he
could scarcely stand, but steadying himself he raised the gun,
took deliberate aim and fired. Luckily for all concerned the
shot missed its mark. This closed the incident, and shortly
afterwards Smith rented some land from my mother and
moved into a little cabin on our place. He was one of the
kindest hearted and most unselfish men I ever knew. For
nearly two years he lived there, working hard both on the

farm and at his trade and was doing well, but fiually his old
•appetite for drink mastered him and he went on a protracted
spree. His wife finally took his whiskey away from him and
hid it. Smith was bordering upon delirium and when his
wife pei sisted iu refusing him the coveted liquor, Smith
seized a shoe knife and grasping his wife by the hair swore
that he would cut her throat if she did not give him the whis
key at once. The wife was sitting on a shoe bench when he
seized her, but she made no attempt at re-i<tance. Even
when he pushed her head back and brought the keen edge of
the knife against her throat she uever moved a muscle, but
looked him squarely in the eye and through her clinched
teeth hissed: "Cut and be damned, you dirty coward"
Smith's nerve failed him, or else some better iustinct gained
control of his being, for slowly his muscles relaxed and drop
ping the knife he sank into a chair the most miserable and
abject specimen of humanity that I ever saw. Altogether
this was one of the most diabolical scenes than 1 ever wit
nessed. Shortly afterwards they disposed of their surplus be
longings, loaded the remainder into a covered wagon and
started south, and I never heard of them afterwards.
The census of 1870 makes no mention <,f Jamesport, but
the fact remains that it still existed. It had even grown som
during the past decade and numbered about 120 people. But
in 1870 the near approach of the Chicago & Southwestern
railroad, a= this brarch of the present Rock Island system was
then called, gave a new impetus to i's growth and when on
the 25th of June, 1871, the first train steamed into Jamesport
its inhabitants felt that the future prosperity of the town was
fixed. Numerous new business houses were built and busi
ness of all kinds began to flourish. Among the buildings
erected in the summer 1871 was a grain house by Franklin
Callison. Dunn & Miller started a large store building and

A. L. Willis put up a dwelling, and a lumber yard was es
tablished .
From July lst to January lst, 1872, forty dwellings and
ten stores were built. The following year the Jones Brothers
began the erection of a fine flouring mill. This mill came
very near being located in Gallatin and it was only by a lucky
chance, and the prompt and effective work of a few of her
citizens, that the mill was located in Jamesport The Jones
Brotheis had made partial arrangements for putting in the
. mill at Jamesport when they were approached by parties from
Gallatin with a proposition 1.0 take it to that town. W. A.
Wynne who lived iu Jamesport at that time, aud having bus
iness interests there, was alive to anything that would help to
build up the town. As Mr. Wynne tells the story, Pines R.
Dunn, at that time a resident of Gallatin, was iu Jamesport
one day and took supper with Mr. Wynne and during the
meal WyDue was recounting the many improvements going on
in Jamesport, and finally got around to those in prospective,
and among these mentioned the new mill that was soon to be.
Dunn listened to the mill story with a knowing smile and
when Wynne had finished, said in a superior sort of way:
"Billy, thnt mill will never be built in Jamesport. It is go
ing to Gallatin. The contract is already signed by Isaiah
Jones, and Marshall is to be over next Monday to sign up and
complete arrangements for bringing the mill to Gallatin."
This announcement came to Wynne like a clap of thunder out
of a clear sky. After Dunn had taken his departure Wynne
at once sought out Dr. N. M. Smith, cashier of the Farmers
Bank which had just been established, and laid the matter be
fore him. Wynne had mapped out a plan of action which
he submitted to Smith and met with his entire approval. The
next day Smith hitched up his buggy and took Marshall Jones
out riding. As they drove along Smith commented at length

upon the splendid location of Jamesport, the extensive terri
tory tributary to it, and above all, how easily accessible from
all points of the conipass, no rivers to cross, no wide bottoms
that were impassable for many months out of the year, and
by way of contrast he was forced to point how different in all.
of these respects was Gallatin. For instance, there was the
river to be forded in many places, wide bottoms to be crossed,
and hills to be scaled in order to reach it, and, added Smith
as a sort of afterthought and logical deduction, "that is the
reason that a mill has never been located there." The argu
ment had been made so simply, the premises were so reason
able and the conclusion reached so natural, and all with such
apparent candor and utter ignorance of the fact that Jones
had ever thought of building a mill anywhere but at Jpmes-
port, that before they parted Smith had a complete confession
from Marshall of their intended location in Gallatin , but that
now his eyes had been opened and he saw things in their true
light and that the mill would surely be located in Jamesport
as originally intended.
August 6th, 187?, granting the prayer of Nathaniel G.
Cruzen and sixty other citizens, the county court ordered that
articles of incorporation be granted to the town of Jamesport.
It also further ordered that "Franklin Callison, Nathaniel
G. Cruzen, Maro Thomas, A. B. Barnes and Isaiah H. Jones
be, and the same are hereby appointed trustees in and for
said town, to hold office until their successors are elected and
qualified."

JAMESPORT IN THE EARLY DAYS.
[CONTINUED]
The first brick building erected in Jamesport was occu
pied by the Farmers Bank. The frame structures met the
needs of their owners for several years and it was not until
1878 that any further brick buildings were erected. In that year
Dr. G. W. Hutchison built a brick business house which he
occupied with a drug store and W. G. Callison erected two
rooms adjoining which were occupied by Independence Mann
as a general store.
On the 9th of January, 1878, 1 left my old home on the
farm and walked the six miles to Jamesport. I was not en
cumbered with baggage ; most of my earthly possessions be
ing ou my back in the form of a rather shabby suit of clothes
in the pockets of which there was just $9.00 iu money. I be
gan work at once for S. Stine, a gentleman with a hooked
nose, a keen eye, a kindly face and a persuasive voice. Stine
had a good trade and I was kept pretty busy. At first I had
some trouble wiih his cost mark as it was made up from the
German words "gluk mit uns," but little by little I succeeded
in mastering the details of my work, and in getting some
measurements ou the magnitude of my ignorance. When it
-vould become necessary for me to attempt some new thing in
his business and I would have to confess my ignorance (and
it occurs to me now that I put in a great deal of time in confes-

sions of this kind, in those days), Stine would never grow
impatient, but always he would say, "You haf te haid,you can
learn." One night he was posting his books when he turned
to me suddenly and said "Brudder John, you shall keep my
books." Great Scott ! what was the man thinking about. Me
keep his books. If he had told me to make a translation of
the Talmud or the Pandex of Justinian, the command would
have sounded as reasonable and the possibility of my com
pliance as probable. But with this mercurial little Jew, to
conceive an idea was to put it into execution at once, and for
the next hour I sat by him and looked on while he weut from
day book to journal and from journal to ledger explaining
the details of his system. Thus I received my first lesson in
bookkeeping. When Stine left the store that night I request
ed him to leave the books out of the safe and that night and
for many nights I pored over those books nntil finally I mas
tered them. Old Tim Linkin water was no prouder of Nicho
las Nickelby when that young gentleman had demonstrated
his ability to keep the books of Cherryble Bros, than Stine
was after I had justified his faith in my ability to keep his
books. It was a small success and yet to me it was the most
important achievement of my business life. It taught me
that by patient perseverance and hard work I could do things
which at first might seem impossible. It awakened a feeling
of conscious power and gave me the courage to try. I dwell
upon this simple incident in the hope that it may prove help
ful to some youug man who is earnestly trying to get a foot
hold in the business world.
I had been with Stine about four months when one day
there came three other Jews, prosperous looking gentlemen
with gold rimmed glasses and beaks like birds of prey, and
they held a long conference with Stine which lasted far into
the night. The next morning Stine came to me and in his
most pathetic voice announced that he was "busted" and that
he was going to quit business in Jamesport. In a short time

he had collected his outstanding accounts, compromised with
his creditors, and had gone to Kansas where he opened up a
larger and better store than he had in Jamesport, and so far
as I know was never again compelled to "bust" in order to
save his credit.
After Stine left I worked for a short time for James A.
Layton who ran a wholesale flour store. At that time there
was no railroad to the North between Jamesport and the Iowa
line and Layton's had customers at Bancroft, Blue Ridge,
Bethany, Lorraine and as far north as Eagleville, and these
together with other towns furnished a good trade in this line.
His customers would usually come in wagons loaded with pro
duce for shipment and would go back loaded with flour and
salt. The following year, 1879, Layton went to Colorado, and
in 188? settled in Grand Junction where he was elected coun
ty clerk and served from 1883 to 1887. He also held the
office of Registrar of the United States land office at Grand
Junction under the McKinley administration for two years.
He was born in Lafayette, Indiana, in 1848, and served with
the Third Illinois Cavalry. He died at Grand Junction, of
which city he was one of the founders, October 23rd, 1903.
James A. Layton was one of the most generous and kind
hearted men I ever knew. He was a companionable man,
always ready to accommodate his friends to the extent of his
ability, enjoyed a good joke, even at his own expense. One
night while I was working for Layton, Billy Wynne and Joe
X. Wright disguised themselves as farmers and came into
Layton's store. The light was dim, as we usually kept but
one light burning, and Wynne and Wright kept well in the
shadows, and disguising their voices inquired the price of Blue
Dick flour. Layton explained to them that there was no
such brand as Blue Dick, but that what they wanted was the
famous Blue "D" brand which he carried. They submitted
to the correction, closed a contract for a thousand pounds

each, said that as they lived in the northern part of Harrison
county and would likely start on the return trip very early
the next morning that they would like to get their flour
loaded that night. Said that they had just got in, had some
other trading to do and would be around later to load up.
Layton agreed to wait for them although they warned him
that it would probably be prttty late. Layton said that
didn't matter in the least. Wynne and Wright then left the
store, but later on returned without their disguises and Lay-
ton told them of the sale he had just made and that he was
waiting for the return of his customers. The boys stayed
quite a while, but finally left Layton to carry on his weary
vi gil alone. Layton remained at his post until some time the
next morning; but his cusromers never came back, and the
laugh was on Layton.
The first number of the Jamesport Gazette was. issued
March 8th, 1877, and Joe X. Wright and M. O. Cloudas were
its editors. Their salulatory was as follows :
"The weekly Gazette will be issued every Thursday from
the corner of Main & East streets, Jamesport, Mo. Our poli
tics and religion — got none. Our rates are the same to every
body — $1.50 per year in advance."
Following is a list of Jamesport business firms represent
ed in its advertising columns at that time : Martin & Couch,
livery; C. C. Clark, carpenter; Wynn & Hutchison, dry goods
and groceries; Mrs. K. Small, fashionable dressmaker; Mrs.
H. Holloway, millinery; H. Holloway, carpenter and joiner;
Thos. Ballew & Sons, lumber; Frank Tanner, harness ; Chas.
E. Orcutt, druggist; Independence Mann, dry goods; Layton
& Phillips, dealers ic flour; Murry & Miller, dry goods;
Marsh & Hemley, harness ; Bunker & Wymore, hardware ;
St. Elmo House, T. M. Cloudas, proprietor. Among the pro
fessional cards appeared G. W. Hutchison, M. D. ; W. G.
Callison, attorney at law; and Dr J. W. Burton, resident
dentist of Gallatin.

The announcements of Albert P. Shour and W. W. Stout
for the office of school commissioner also appeared for the
first time. There was but one marriage notice, that of Milton
Terry and Terresa Hazelrigg, Rev. John Martin officiating.
One item mentions the fact that "there are quite a num
ber of firms in our city not represented in our advertising
columns." Another item states that "our merchants are selling goods
to customers forty miles from town."
Albert P. Shour announces that he will open a select
school April 29th. The leading article in this number, as al
so in several succeeding numbers, is the "Saturday Night,"
written by Joe X. Wright in imitation of Brick Pomeroy's
famous articles under that heading.
Joe X. Wright was the best all round newspaper man
that I ever met. He understood every detail of newspaper
work, and was equally at home in the mechanical department
or the editorial chair. He was a son of Elder D. T. Wright,
who formerly lived at Chillicothe, Mo. In spite of all his
faults the fact remains that Joe X. Wright gave the people of
Jamesport the best newspaper that town has ever had.
In addition to the business firms mentioned above, there
was Franklin Callison who had been in business there since
the early sixties. P. H. Lilly was also in business there at
this time, merchandising and buying grain. Mr. Lilly,
Charles E. Orcutt and M. Murry are about the only ones of
those doing business in Jamesport when I first knew it who
are still there.
The Carman Brothers were there in 1877 and were among
the leading merchants. John W. Clark was running a jewel
ry store and Jake Irving had a hardware store.
John Wesley Clark was an oddity in many ways. He
had a genius for doing unexpected things. I remember that
at one of the fairs held at Jamesport, the management was
looking for grand stand attractions, when John went to them

with a proposition to walk a slack rope across the race track
from the top of the amphitheater to the judge's stand. The
management was inclined to treat the proposal as a joke, but
John insisted that he could do it. When questioned he ad
mitted that he had no experience in rope walking, but that he
had about a month in which to learn. It was finally agreed
that he could make the attempt, and John rigged up a rope iu
his yard and went to practicing. When the fair came on
John was ready and performed his perilous feat in the pres
ence of thousands of people to the entire satisfaction of all
concerned. At another time Dr. Arnold, a traveling showman, came
to Jamesport and advertised that he would give an entertain
ment and among other things would play upon "eight sepa
rate and distinct instruments at one and the same time." This
aroused the curiosity of Clark. He attended the performance
and afterwards announced that he could play eight separate
and distinct instruments at one and the same time and i-ume-
diately went into training. In a short time he was ready to
demonstrate his musical ability and I heard him give a per
formance that was fully equal to that of Arnold.
In 1883 he and I made a trip to California together. At
Kansas City John decided that we would make the trip in an
emigrant car, as it would not only be much cheaper, but
would give us a new experience in traveling. We bought
bedding and had a huge lunch basket filled with provisions
and with divers other supplies were pretty well fortified for
our journey. For the first day and night we had the whole
car to ourselves. At Denver an old gentleman and his son
joined us. At Ogden a "busted" showman with a set of
musical glasses came on board and John immediately sat up
and began to take notice. John had a part of his musical ap
paratus with him and he insisted on getting up a concert at
once. The showman said that he could not operate his glass
es unless he had them fastened upon a table. But difficul-

ties always made John the more determintd. At the nex
town he got off and procured some screws and it was but a
short job to fasten these glasses to one of the wooden seats in
the car. Then Johu got out his guitar, a french harp, a tri
angle and a small drum, the showman w-ent to his glasses and
we soon had a very unique concert in full blast. It was a
mixed train and there was a party of wholesale merchants
traveling in a special car attached to our train. These gen
tlemen learned of the novel entertainment tha1; was in pro
gress in our car and soon they came crowding in to enjoy it.
Then John arose and stood for his rights. He appealed to
the conductor for protection. Pointed out that we were
traveling third class and that first class passengers had no
right to intrude upon our privacy. The conductor said the
point was well taken and compelled the first class passengers
to retire to their own car.
The last time I heard from Clark he had a lot of trained
dogs that were astonishing the people of Denver by their
wonderful performances.

JAMESPORT IN THE EARLY DAYS.
[CONTINUED]
THE ORPHANS' HOME.
In 1879 or 1880 Pendy Mann moved his stock of goods
into a new double brick building belonging to W. G. Callison.
There was a vacant room upstairs about twenty by forty feet
in size. It was neatly plastered and a row of windows along
the south side and west end gave light and ventilation. It
was a very comfortable room. Capt. 0. Taylor was, I think,
the original discoverer of this room and he appropriated it
for a sleeping room Other homeless waifs came and, seeing
the Captain so comfortably fixed, got permission to move
thnr meager belongings to this place and make it their home.
Additions to our numbers came from time to time until there
were some seven or eight domiciled here. We had a large
stove, wash stand, mirror, wash bowls and towels, chairs, a
writing table, and a few other articles of furniture. Here,
for several years, we slept, made our toilet and loafed of Sun
days. It was a democratic community, where each member
followed the bent of his own inclination, subject only to the
decrees of Capt Taylor, our acknowledged head .
There was Ad Hese, big, clumsy and good natured, who
was continually running against himself in his efforts to keep

out of his own way. Pat Faulk, dainty and debonair, with
immaculate linen and clothes that were the extreme of style ;
the only man in our crowd who could smoke a cigar without
letting it smoke him, or who could twirl a slender cane with
grace. Will Casey, a licensed lawyer at twenty-one, but
changed his mind, went to Denver, engaged in business and
succeeded. Frank Davis, young, quiet and attentive to busi
ness, with a fund pf native humor that enabled him to extract
much solid enjoyment from life. Art Noble, printer by trade,
who invariably shaved, took a bath and then got drunk every
Saturday night, slept all day Sunday and wa< at his case Mon
day morning smiling and repentant. Frank Casey, the
youngest orphan in our home, born tired, always sleepy, and
who was wont to exclaim in regretful tones as he arose on
Monday, "Alas, it is six more days till Sunday." Captain
Taylor, trim and soldierly, quiet and courteous, careful aud
methodical, never putting the left sock upon his right foot,
nor vici versa, taking his "mawnin's mawnin" with great
regularity, yet with temperance and sobrietv. He went to
bed with the birds and arose with them. He made laws for
the government of the "Orphans' Home" and then enforced
them with justice and impartiality. Once when the Captain
thought that the boys were staying out too late of nights, he
announced that all must be in their beds by ten o'cloek.
Someone disobeyed the order, found the door locked, climbed
an awning post and came iu through the window. The next
day the Captain put locks on the windows.
One day W. P. Howland, an organ agent, brought a
wheezy old melodeon up to our room and asked permission to
leave it there a few days. None of the boys could play, but
as they came in they would thump the old melodeon a few
times, not for the purpose of producing a "concord of sweet
sounds," but simply as an evidence of good f.iith. '^Our visi-

tors never failed to pay their respects to the melodeon. It
was a star attraction. One Sunday morning Pat Faulk dis
covered the chords to "Little BrOwn Jug " He played them
vigorously for quite a while, then, emboldened by his suecess,
he sang the words. Some of the boys joined in the alleged
music and they all sang I was sitting with my feet in the
window reading, for it was a warm day in summer, when I
notieed the Captain get up, very deliberately take a yard
stick and carefully measure the window ; then he took t he di
mensions of the melodeon and came back to the window and
stood there humming a tune and apparently engaged in some
deep mental calculation. He happened to glance at me and,
seeing a look of inquiry upon my countenance, he quietly re
marked :
"I was just a figgerin' to- see if that damned thing (point
ing to the melodeon) would go through the window."
Once along late in October Capt. Taylor, Geo. Cook and
I went duck hunting. When we started the sky was overeast
with murky and blown clouds and a cold drizzling rain was
falling. It looked like we were going to have good weather
for ducks. We reached our camping place along in the after
noon and our drive!- started on the return trip with instruc
tions to come for us at the end of the week. We pitched our
tent and by the time we had arranged things comfortably
about camp, night came on. All afternoon we had seen long
lines of ducks flying, but made no attempt to get any shoot
ing that evening, as we felt that we had a whole week of good
sport ahead of us. We ate supper and turned in early, ex
pecting to be "up and at 'em'' early next morning. But
when the morning dawned there was not a cloud in the sky,
nor a duck to be seen on the bottom. Things looked dis
couraging, but Cook and I shouldered our guns and started
out to explore the bottoms. We returned at noon, Cook with

one old mallard duck, but I, like Rip Van Winkle, had "no
a tail nor a fedder" to show for my long tramp. In the af
ternoon Cook and I went to the hills and succeeded in killing
a few quails. Our dog caught a rabbit and when we returned
to camp the Captain had one lone jack snipe to his credit.
Capt. Taylor was very fond of soup and the next morn
ing when Cook and I were preparing to start the Captain
said that he would stay in camp and have a big pot of soup
ready for dinner. Cook and I started out in different direc
tions, tramped all forenoon, found nothing and returned
about noon tired and hungry and ready to do justice to the
Captain's soup. And the soup was ready. The Captain had
dumped the job lot of game, quail, duck, snipe and rabbit in
to a big iron pot along with a lot of potatoes, plenty of salt
and oceans of pepper aud the mixture had boiled all forenoon.
We waived all preliminaries, and ladeling the hot soup out
into tin plates began to devour it. We ate on in silence, with
appetites such as men have who take plenty of exercise and
live in the open air. We were approaching the bottom of the
pot when Cook drew a rabbit's leg. For some reason rabbit
was Cook's pet aversion, so when it dawned upon him that he
ad been devouring soup, contaminated with rabbit, he
pushed his plate away, looked reproachfully at the Cpptain
and in injured tones exclaimed, "Now Cap Taylor you've
spoiled my dinner, for I've told you a hundredjtimes that I
couidn't eat rabbit." "It strikes me that you've done fa'ly
well for a man that can't eat rabbit, and I don't think you'll
sta've." said the Captain in his hard dry tones, and the in
cident was closed.
Pat Faulk and Alex Layton occe played a practical joke
on me that gave me about the worst twenty-four hours that
I ever experienced. It was soon after I was elected constable
and a man against whom I held a number of executions came

to my office one day to settle. As I now recollect he paid me
altogether about nine hundred dollars, all in bills. I placed
the money in a long red pocketbook and put it in my pocket.
While I was writing a receipt for the money Pat passed
through the office, stopped and leaning over my shoulder,
talked to me a moment about some unimportant matter and
went on. I wrote the receipt, handed it to the man and start
ed at once to the bank to deposit the money. I walked up to
the bank counter and remarking that I wanted to make a de
posit, reached for my pocketbook. It wasn't there. Hur
riedly my hands went to every pocket in my clothing but it
was no use. The pocketbook was gone. Stunned and dazed
by the loss I said something to the cashier about having for
gotten my pocketbook, and turning left the bank. I searched
the sidewalk back to my office which was not more than fifty
feet distant, ransacked my office with feverish haste but all to
no purpose. The pocketbook had disappeared as completely
as if the earth had suddenly opened and swallowed it. I sat
down and tried to think, but always my thoughts traveled in
the same narrow circle; the pocketbook was gone and I could
not account for its disappearance upon any reasonable hypoth
esis. I do not think that I ate or slept during the next twen
ty-four hours. My only thought, was how can I replace that
money. I was not worth the sum involved and I could offer
no reasonable excuse for asking anyone to sign my note for
such a sum ; but the money had to be replaced and promptly
too, for the execution creditors might call at any time for
their money and I could offer no valid excuse for withholding
it. After a sleepless night I was sitting in my office feeling
desperate enough for anything, when Pat came in and re
marked that I was not looking well and asked if I was sick.
I was not inclined to talk, but he kept up a running fire of
comment on my appearance until Layton and some more of

the gang dropped in and joined in the conversation. Some
one suggested that perhaps the reason I looked so blue was
because I was unable to pay my washer womin and my shirt
was in hock. Pat proposed that a collection be taken up for
my relief and drawing my pocketbook out, deliberately
opened it and began to run through the pile of bills, while I
sat there staring at him like one demented. I reached for
that pocketbook and when I realized that the money was all
there and that it was all a joke, I felt like one suddenly
awakened from a horrible dream.
It was perhaps not more than a week after this occurrence
that "the whirligig of time" brought at least a partial re
venge. Layton had sold out and was winding up his busi
ness preparatory to going West, and was making his head
quarters in Faulk's store. Passing through the store late one
evening I discovered Layton's pocketbook lying on his desk
where he had carelessly left it. I appropriated it at once,
sauntered back to the stove and sat down. Preseutly Layton
came in, stood around awhile, siid that he would go and feed
his horse aud then go to supper, and then went out. After
supper I returned to the store and waited. Presently Layton
dashed in, went to his desk, rummaged among the papers,
stopping occasionally to feel in his pockets. I reeognized the
symptoms at once, and realized how much easier it was to
watch the other fellow have it than it was to have it yourself.
Faulk and I were the only persons present, and presently Lay-
ton came in and began to tell how he had lost his pocketbook,
that it contained about $400.00 — nearly everything he had in
the world. It was a maxim of Rochefoucauld that, "There
is always something in the misfortunes of our friends that is
not altogether displeasing to us." That states my feelings
very politely, but it is not near strong enough, for when Lay-
ton finally concluded that he had lost his pocketbook at the

barn and had probably pitched it out with the refuse, and he
and Pat took a lantern and started for the barn, I just wanted
to hug myself and yell as I pictured them pawing over that
manure pile in a blinding snow storm looking for something
that wasn't there. They kept up the search for quite awhile,
but about eleven o'clock they came back to the store discour
aged and nearly frozen. I wasn't near ready to give up, but
when Layton remarked that it would break his wife's heart
when she learned that he had lost their little all, my heart re
lented and I restored the money and Layton went home hap-
py- For four years I lived this life, studied hard, worked at
whatever my hands found to do, and if I made little, I spent
less and so saved something. I devoted two years to the study
of law, reading thirty pages of some author each day. At
the end of this course of reading I applied for admission to
the bar of Daviess county. Judge Samuel A. Richardson was
on the bench at that time and he appointed Judge R. A. De-
Bolt, Judge Shanklin, Judge H. C. McDougal and W. C. Gil-
lihan as a committee to examine Wm. M. Bostaph and myself.
From my point of view, that committee did a pretty thorough
job. For four hours we were subjected to a rapid fire of
questions, which thoroughly tested our legal knowledge, or
the lack of it, aud the committee were kind enough to report
favorably upon our cases and we were ordered to prepare our
licenses to practice law, which we did and the judge signed
them. It was not with any definite intention of ever engaging
in the practice of law that induced me to take up that study.
I felt that it would give me standing among business men to
understand something of the law governing ordinary busi
ness transactions, and my experience has proven this to be
true. I have engaged in various occupations and always I

have fouud that a knowledge of law stands a man in good
stead. During the time that I was engaged in reading law there
was a great deal of petty litigation in the justices' courts of
the township and the justices each had a regular "law day"
once a month. W. G. Callison, with whom I read law, was
the only lawyer in the town and, having much outside busi
ness, was seldom in his office. Even before I was admitted to
the bar, he would sometimes intrust matters of minor impor
tance in the justice court to my care and, like Patrick Henry,
I began to learn law by practicing it. I had some amusing
experiences in this sort of practice. Upon one occasion Rob
ert Vance, an attorney living then in Gallatin, came to James
port and during his stay became involved in a personal diffi
culty with a traveling street fakir, which resulted in Vance
getting soundly thrashed. Vance had the fakir arrested at
once and charged him with all sorts of high crimes and mis
demeanors. As usual, Callison was away and I was the only
show to put up a defense for the accused. He asked what
my services were worth and I told him that while the services
probably would not be worth the money, they would cost him
$10.00. It is true I knew but little law, but observation had
taught me that there was nothing so calculated to inspire a
client with confidence as for his lawyer to charge him a good
stiff fee. He said that $10 was all the money he had, so I
agreed that if he did not come clear that I would make no
charge. With this understanding we went into court and
presently our case was called. The state represented by
Vance promptly answered ready. I had resolved upon a des
perate move for I had a desperate case and I wanted that $10.
I answered that I believed that we were ready, but before
proceeding further I would, under leave of the court, file a
motion requiring the state to give bond for costs. Without

waiting, I at once launched out into an argument in support
of the motion, basing my plea upon the fact that the court
had already lost its fees in a number of petty state cases that
were wholly without merit, and which were instituted for the
sole purpose of furnishing a means by which one individual
might gratify his desire for revenge against another. That
if the state wanted to engage in this kind of business, then
let it put up a good and sufficient bond. I talked about flve
minutes and sat down, feeling sure that the court was with
me Vance was on his feet iu an instant and had no trouble
in showing to the court that such a motion was wholly un
authorized by law and without precedent in the practice of
the c-mrts. I had counted upon his saying all that and more,
but I knew that I had appealed to something which to that
court was higher than statute law or precedent, and that was
his self interest.
When Vance closed, the court announced its decision :
"The motion for cost is sustained and the state has thirty
minutes iu which to furnish bond. If bond is not furnished
in that time, the defendant will be discharged."
It is needless to add that the bond was never furnished,
that the defendant went free, aud I got the ten.
By this time I had saved enough out of my small earn
ings to buy a piece of re.-idence property. There was a five-
room house, uearly new, and an acre of land. It had cost me
about $750.00 Besides this I had sufficient money to furnish
it cheaply, and this I proceeded to do. After furnishing the
house I found that I had something over $1000.00 invested.
I hud earned it all and was rather proud of the fact. Obser
vation and experience alike have taught r.ie to believe that
the young man who earns and saves $1000.00 can be safely
counted on to earn and save still other thousands. It is nec
essary thai the young man should learn to earn money and it
is equally as essential that he should learn to save it. A good
way to avoid extravagance is to earn your money before you
spend it Another incentive to saving is to have some defi-

nite investment in view — a piece of property or an interest in
some business which he particularly desires to own. I know
how useless it is to advise others along these lines, for these
are things that every young man must learn for himself — if
he ever learns them — in the hard school of experience.
While I was engaged in fixing up my house, Jim Faulk
ner and Frank Casey used to go down with me of nights and
help put down carpets, put up stoves and arrange the furni
ture. At last the boys pronounced the arrangements in the
house satisfactory. They had even put wood and kindling in
the stoves and laid a match handy.
It was Saturday night. I had that day moved my be
longings from the "Orphans' Home" and. bid farewell to
he orphans. It, was the last night of my bachelorhood and
as I sat alone I thought long and earnestly on the problems
of the future. I had long and earnestly desired to have a
home, with all the sweet associations connected with that
word, and now the fulfillment of this cherished hope was at
hand. At 9 o'clock on Sunday morning, October 30th, 1881, at
her fathei's house, Sallie E Chenoweth and I were marriedg
Just a few friends and relatives were present, and when the
preacher had said the simple words that linked our destiny
we drove away, accompanied by some of our young friends.
Never before had this old world looked quite so beautiful as
it did on that bright, crisp October morning. At least it
seemed so to me. Others may not have noticed how brightly
the sun shone, or that the crisp air intoxicated one with the
very joy of living. Along the woodland roads ihe leaves
were turning to brown and gold and nature seemed to have
decked herself in her most brilliant robes in honor of our
nuptial day
After taking dinner in Gallatin late in the afternoon we
drove slowly back, reaching Jamesport about sundown, and
drove straight to our own home and went to housekeeping.
Here we lived for fourteen years, here our three child
ren were born ; here a fair share of happiness and prosperity
rewarded our labors — and here I think would be a good place
to bring these sketches to a close.