THE HUNT FAMILY ON
THE AMERICAN FRONTIER

Contributed to this site by: Larry Thornton at (millar@terragon.com)

The following information was taken from THE HUNT FAMILY ON THE AMERICAN FRONTIER; by Laurence A. Hunt of Spokane, Washington; 1958; page 56-144

Insert from Larry Thornton:
John Mason Hunt b. 15 Jan 1826 in Wayne Co., IN and d. 8 Feb 1906 in Oakland, Douglas Co., OR
wife Sarah Ann Argabrite was b. 21 Feb 1831 in Indiana. She married John Hunt 25 Nov 1847 in La Porte Co., IN and d. 22 Feb 1898 in same county as John. Both buried in Sutherlin, Oregon.

(NOTE: Laurence A. Hunt: When John M. Hunt was about 75 years of age he set about writing for his children, a few pages, (they covered about twenty pages when in later years some of us tried to copy them with a typewriter), to give an outline of his life.

We had known that he had in other years written other stories of special events, but we supposed that they were all lost. His practice had been to write his story, it sometimes included several, and then to make copies of it with his quill pen and send them to those of his friends that he thought would be interested.

They were written at various times and would include in each paper accounts of events very widely scattered, over the years. They were found in many segments. I have undertaken to re-arrange them in somewhat chronological order, but have not intentionally changed his original account. It will all be included under the title that he chose in his last account of his life. He called this, "A GLANCE AT THE PAST.")

(NOTE: I Larry Thornton a Great-Great grandson of John Mason Hunt copied Laurence’s manuscript during the month of February of 2001. I typed the manuscript as my copy was written. The original manuscript had been typed on duplicator masters and copies ran on a duplicator machine, which made for very poor copies. If Laurence A. Hunt added comments it is listed as (NOTE: L. A. Hunt - and then his comments.) If I added comments it is listed as (NOTE: L. T. - and then the comment.) In both instances the comments are inclosed in parentheses.

A GLANCE AT THE PAST

BY

JOHN MASON HUNT

"Little items by the way of little things and men, gathered from a fading life of three score years and ten."

My Grand parents, Charles Hunt and Francina his wife, and Grandfather Elder Lazarus Whitehead and Martha, his wife, and their families came from Salisbury, North Caroline, and settled on the Whitewater River, in what was at that time (1806) a part of the Northwest Territory, but is now Wayne Co., Indiana.

Grandfather Charles Hunt had nine sons and five daughters. The sons names were Jonathan, James, Timothy, Smith, George, John, William, Charles and Stephen. The names of the daughters were, Rebecca, Sarah, Catherine, Nancy and Mary. The names may not be set down in their proper order, as I write from memory.

Grandfather Whitehead had three sons and two daughters. The sons names were, John, William, and Lazarus and the names of the daughters were, Martha, who married my father, and Mary who was married to my father’s brother John. These all entered land close together and as most were farmers, began at once to clear the land of the heavy timber.

Two of the Hunt brothers were gunsmiths, soon after their settlement grandfather built a grist mill and also a tanyard on the Elkhorn, a beautiful stream near their home.

As soon as they had shelter for themselves, they undertook the building of a house of worship. This was located on the north bank of the Elkhorn stream. The name of the stream was suggested by the finding of a number of elk-horns along the bank of this stream. This was the first church in Wayne County and probably was the first church in Northwest Territory.

Grandfather Whitehead was a missionary Baptist Minister and this church was built for that denomination. It was a very plain structure and was never entirely finished, but it was comfortable enough for pioneers, who cared more for the doctrine taught there, than they did for a showy fine house. Elder Whitehead traveled many miles around doing missionary work for little or no pay, and, I was told by one who had often heard him that he was a man of more than ordinary ability.

The old church was still in use in my early boyhood. A picture of its large pulpit, its benches or rough lumber, and its unceilwalls seems to be before me now, although it was torn down to make way for a more stylish building, more than half a century ago.

The congregation wanted a better church but there was one sister at least who protested against its removal. She claimed that the money necessary to build a new church, with its furnishings and cushioned seats would be better spent if given to the poor around them. But the new church was built and the sister who preferred the old building came finally to become reconciled to the change and has long since gone home to praise God in The House Not Made With Hands, eternal in the heavens.

The bodies of both Grandfathers and of Grandmother Hunt lie in that churchyard only a few steps from where the old church stood. This churchyard is enclose by a neat stone wall, built in the most part by the uncles and cousins of the two families previously mentioned, Whitehead and Hunt. And these aunts, uncles and cousins, who were so nicely situated that they could meet each other nearly every Sunday if they so desired, were soon to be separated.

The reports of a new country, called the St. Joseph Country were so flattering, that some of the uncles and older cousins, with my father, took a trip in 1834 to see this new wonderful country, where farms could be made without clearing land, and plowing for years among roots and stumps. A land where all that you had to do after purchasing and fencing it, was simply to turn over the prairie and it was ready for planting.

This company made the trip as far I believe as Fox River in Illinois. When they returned after a few weeks they immediately began preparations to move. Father sold his farm as did several others, and made ready to start the following spring.

Before leaving Wayne County there are some little incidents that I think should be told here.

THE SPELLING BEE

At the close of the last school that I attended in Wayne County a little item of small interest occurred, although it is of no real importance.

It was common in those days to spend the afternoon of the last day of the school term in spelling. In the final contest of the afternoon, as the sides were chosen up all the scholars would stand up, in two sides, one on each side of the school room.

The teacher would give a word first to one side and then to the other. If a scholar missed a word, he must set down and the next in line on the other side would try to spell it. This continue back and forth until some one spelled it correctly. Some times several would go down on one word.

The first object of the contest was to see which side was spelled down first. Then if more than one was remaining standing upon one side they each spelled in turn until only one was left.

The first object of the contest was to see which side wold be the last standing up. Then if more than one ere remaining standing, they were each given a word in turn until all were spelled down but one. This one was the champion speller for this contest.

At the end of one of these trials I was the last one on my feet. Then the teacher gave the spelling book to one of the older pupils and he stood up to spell. After spelling a few words the teacher missed and I spelled the word, and again I was left standing alone on the floor.

Now it is fair to assume that the teacher missed the word on purpose, but as father and a number of the older patrons of the school were present it made me feel pretty good. I was only nine years old at the time.

A LOG ROLLING IN THE YEAR 1830

I am sure that there are few of the present generation that have ever participated in and old-fashioned log-rolling. It may be interesting for me to give an account of one that I attended in the year 1830. About thirty of us met at a clearing as it was called, and a description of this will show how the timber of Indiana and other states in the vicinity disappeared before the woodsman’s ax.

When Indiana was first being settled, new settlers bough forty acres or more of government land, at one dollar and twenty-five cents per acre. In many cases this land must be cleared before even a garden could be planted.

The settler then must cut down all the timber upon any sized lot he decided upon; must trim the trees and burn the brush. Then he must cut the trees into such lengths that a few men could move them off the land, having in mind the stumps that the logs must be moved over. It was at such a clearing, being as I can remember, about ten acres in size, that about thirty of us met on the morning of the log rolling.

The ground to be cleared was first divided into two divisions, as nearly equal in the amount of work to be done, as the committee could estimate.

Next two men were chosen as captains and they proceeded to choose sides. It was considered quite and honor to be the first man chosen in a log-rolling contest. When all present had been chosen the two captains "Drew Cuts." as it was called, for the first choice of the section of the clearing that his group would undertake to clear.

Now the two crews took the position assigned to each man by his captain, and at a given signal the word "GO" was called and the contest was on. All the logs great and small must be rolled, carried or drug, to a designated place outside the field line.

Now everybody would do their very utmost to see that his side would win. Of course in choosing up sides, the captains had not only looked to the size and abilities of the men they were about to choose but also to the tools that each man had brought along to use.

Of course one of the essential tools at a log-rolling contest was a handspike. A really choice handspike was a prized possession in the timber country and it was not uncommon for a man to provide himself with a specially suited handspike and take it with him for years to every log-rolling to which he was invited. For such a piece he would first choose a young tough stick, not too heavy, then after picking it he would take it to a shaving horse, (NOTE: L. A. Hunt - a clamp fastened to a seat; you put your stick to be shaved in the clamp and then sitting, usually, upon the seat of the shaving horse, you used a drawing knife to shape the stick.) Where with a draw knife you would shape your handspike to just your notion after which it must be properly seasoned. It would often take several hours to shape it to suit, but once made it was a prized possession, taken by the owner upon every suitable occasion. At every log-rolling a number of these would be on hand.

It was interesting to see how fast the logs would be put together in heaps of many sizes. Two stout men in each company would seize a log and in some manner raise it high enough off the ground so that several handspikes could get under it. Then when all was ready the leader would give the order, "Take Hold". Then if the log was heavy you would see each man straining every nerve to prevent trouble. The handspikes would bend and occasionally break. I saw one break that day and the log fell. But such heavy lifting breaks even strong men down.

The work of piling the logs goes on, and the excitement increases as the end draws near. Soon a shout goes up that one side has finished, and claimed to be the winner. Now after a short period good humored boasting the work is over for the day.

Prior to the day of the rolling, all rail timber of other logs of any value have been removed..

It is now that the really interesting part comes; The women who have not only been watching the contest, have also been getting the dinner ready. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Now everybody has fun. After the dinner, foot races, wrestling or any other good natured sport is in order.

The owner had now only to burn the logs and his land was ready for the plow. Oh, yes the stumps? Well it time he hoped they would rot.

CONCERNING GENERAL HARRISON

During the war of 1812, with England, General William Henry Harrison, the Governor of Northwest Territory, made a visit to what is now Wayne Co.

He made a speech from a large walnut stump, near the road, in one corner of Peter Weavers field. (NOTE: L. A. Hunt- grandfather said that this stump was still standing as he wrote this, and thought that the spot might be permanently marked, because the General, the then Governor, who later became president had spoken from it.)

In his speech he told them just how much he depended upon their regiment, to protect the settlements around them, It is to be noted that the General did not take this regiment away, even to re-enforce his little army for the Battle of Tippecanoe.

Brother Franklin who heard this speech, said that Father paraded the men upon Peter Weaver’s farm, and that to encourage the men the general himself paraded the regiment, putting them through the ordinary drill evolutions as well as some new special drills of his own development.

The Governor then went to the new county-seat, Salisbury, and as he was entering the village they met Captain Kilbuck, a Delaware Indian chief with a few warriors, who offered their services to the General. He looked the Chief sternly in the eye and slowly pronounced the words, "Are you good men and true?" The Indians answered with a whoop and were then received.

Brother Franklin said that the General told him privately, "Colonel, I think you have a fine body of men there, but I noticed that some of them have been drinking and you must put your thumb down on that."

LEAVING WAYNE COUNTY

(NOTE: L. A. Hunt - John M. Hunt was only about nine years old when he left Wayne County, his memory is not quite accurate as to the Baptist Church. The first church was built in 1807 but it burned down two years later and another was immediately built in its place and it is this second church that he remembered. A few years later in life he began keeping a diary. I am not sure just how complete it may have been over the years, but scraps of it have come down to us and you can see just how hard he tried to be accurate in his facts.)

It was in May, in 1835 that we left Wayne County. Besides my father’s family, I recall uncle James and his family, Cousin Jasper Hunt, Cousin James Andrew, and Cousin John Hunt each with his family, and there may have been others.

The trip ahead was about 200 miles, to La Porte County, in the same state.

We crossed the White River near Abbington, taking the shortest route to Indianapolis, the State Capital, which was then a town of only a few hundred inhabitants. I remember how frightened I was when we crossed White River, to see two men on horseback, ride one on each side of our lead oxen, to prevent them from going either up or down stream, as the river was rather high to be forded at the time. The stream was quite rapid and the water came up to mid sides of the oxen; and how relieved I was when at last we reached solid ground.

We camped one night on a stream called Brandywine, where we lost forty sheep that father was taking to our new home. They were either strayed or stolen, and though the men hunted for them for a day or two, no trace of them could be found. We were compelled to go on without them. We crossed this stream on a covered bridge the first one that I had ever seen.

At Fall River father bought some fresh fish, the largest that I had ever seen. I think that we saw our first Indians on this trip when we crossed the Wabash River at Logansport. They were friendly but I did not like the looks of them. I had heard and read too many tales of their cruelty, in burning prisoners and tomahawking women and children. I was glad when we passed on.

The country was now new, with only a cabin here and there and an occasional clearing. Near Plymouth in Marshall County, a lot of Indians came to our camp. Then one came up to Uncle James Hunt and put a copper cent up to his eye, and said, "Swap two shilling." He expected that Uncle James eyes were too poor to see the difference between a copper cent and a two-shilling piece, and that he would get a two- shilling piece in exchange. These coins were then in circulation, and were worth about twelve and one half cents each. (NOTE: L. A. Hunt- they were called a "bit," and when withdrawn from circulation the twenty five cent piece was minted and so became known as a two-bit piece.) But the Indian failed to make the swap and the other Indians burst out in laughter at his defeat.

We children were, by this time, becoming more used to the Indians and watched with interest, their strange dress, as they galloped up and down the road on horseback. Some where along the way father bought a piece of venison, and brother William shot a spotted fawn and brought it into camp. This was something that but few of us had ever seen.

I believe that the prettiest sight along the road was when we came to the Kankakee marsh, where we could look out far over the beautiful green grass, that seemed almost as level as a floor.

Then soon came the prairies, with occasional buildings and patches of grain and vegetables, the beginnings of larger farms to be.

A little before we got to South Bend in St. Joseph County, Brother Vance who had not been well for some time, became worse and we stopped. Here Father and Uncle James bought a man’s crop, on an old Indian field, two miles south of South Bend, called Rhom’s Village. This ground had much of it been cultivated by the Indians for many years before perhaps. Wild strawberries were plentiful around this old field, as well as a great variety of wild flowers. The little hills where the corn had grown were very plain to be seen.

There were a great variety of signs of the former Indian encampment. We youngsters did a lot of exploring. Some of these Indians were buried by splitting a slab off a log and then hollowing out a space in the log sufficient to receive the body of the dead and then covering with the slab. There were other burials made by scooping out a hollow in the ground and lining it with bark. Sometimes the body would be sitting up and sometimes lying upon its back.

We often found silver broaches and butcher-knives while looking where their teepees had been. But the Indians, themselves, had been removed from the vicinity some years before and I recollect seeing only one in the few months that we lived there. He came to borrow Brother Vance’s gun to go hunting. When asked how long he wanted the gun he held up all the fingers on one hand and one finger of the other as much as to say six days.

Brother Vance let him have the rifle but he came back in a day or two, saying, "Gun No Good." He showed by his actions that when he would go to shoot, the deer would run off. I suppose that the guns that he had been used to, had only single triggers, while Vance’s gun had two triggers.

(NOTE: L.A. Hunt- I find that there are a great many people today who do not know about a double trigger on a rifle, or as they were called, "Set trigger guns." These were very common with the better class of muzzle-loading rifles. The rear trigger was pulled when the gun was cocked just to set the front trigger. It had the regular curved trigger shape but the front trigger, or the set trigger was about straight. When you really had a bead on your target, just the slightest touch would release the hammer. I am sure that is the reason why the Indian failed to get his deer. The more you pulled on the trigger that had the trigger shape the harder it would set, and not fire.

John M. Hunt’s youngest son, my Uncle Bertie, had a rather serious and at the same time amusing experience with a set trigger rifle. It was, by the way, the rifle with which I first learned to shoot. On grandfathers farm on the Callapooie (Sic. L.T. Calapooyia, but is now spelled Calapooya) in Oregon, there was quite a little hill just back of the house, and below the hill was the cow corral where the cows were milked every night. Just facing this corral was the back porch of the house; this was shaded in the afternoon and made a nice place to sit towards evening. Uncle Bertie had the gun in his hands, whether from a hunting trip or not I do not know. The cows were gathered on this little knoll above the corral, contented chewing their cuds.

One particular cow stood facing Uncle Bertie, and it seemed the time to just see how it would look over the rifle sights. It made a perfect target. He cocked the gun and set the trigger. If you were going to shoot a cow you drew a line from the left eye to the right eye to the left horn and where the two lines crossed was the proper point of aim. He drew those imaginary lines, he drew a careful bead; the aim looked perfect. With his finger in just the proper position, he thought to himself just such a merest touch and I could drop that cow, so easy. Just the merest touch, Oh! Oh! There went the touch, the aim was good; down dropped the cow. One surprised boy; he was only a boy at the time, Well I left about that time as one fellow used to say so I do not know just what happened after that, but I am certain that he never had a second accident like that.)

Late in fall, Brother Vance having gotten better, we moved on up to Crystal Lake as Father called it, on the East side of Rolling Prairie, in La Porte County, Indiana. After Father’s death the name of the Lake was changed to Hunt’s Lake.

The old cabin at Crystal Lake would not look very well along side of some of the new homes now in the neighborhood; it was a rough specimen, with its unhewn logs of uneven length, and cracks plastered with mud, while the shakes that covered the roof were held in place with weigh poles, nails being very scarce. But we felt very thankful for that primitive shelter, after our long journey through mud and rain, having been on the road twenty-one days, and seventeen of them in the rain.

We at least kept dry in our cabin and if we chanced to get wet we could stand before our large fireplace and get dry. All around us there were new things to look at, but that lovely lake was perhaps the most attractive of all. We kept a close watch of the lake for fish whenever we were around its waters edge, but we failed to ever see so much as a minnow.

It was late in the fall when we got to our new home, and one of the strange things to us was the drumming of the pheasants. The sound seemed to come from so many different directions, at or near the same time. The sound of one would hardly cease before another would begin. It all sounded like distant thunder.

One day I followed the noise, determined to learn how it was made. I crept along cautiously, stopping whenever the drumming ceased, until I was near enough to see. The bird would stretch himself to his full height, and flap his wings against his side, beginning very slow but gradually increasing until hear the end they became a regular whir.

Brother Jep and I often talked of putting fish in the lake but we were told that they would not live there or they would already be in the lake; but this did not satisfy us, and one day we took a gourd and went to the Little Kankakee, and with a palm-leaf hat dipped up about a dozen minnows, in the rapid water below the mill. We carried them home and deposited them in our lake, where they swam off, apparently well pleased with their new home. We thought that the minnows were just young fish, but we shall see that we were mistaken.

It was perhaps two years before we heard from our fish, but one day, Brother Jep, while playing along the bank of the lake saw a drove of minnows and came and told me. We lost no time in getting back to the spot, and while we were glad to know that fish would really live in ;the lake, we were surprised to see no larger ones. All were about the same size as those we had put in nearly two years before.

We concluded to go to Silver Lake, on the north side of Rolling Prairie, and take a pail and bring home some sunfish and perch that we could catch with our hook and line. So sometime about the first of June we got Father to give us a "stint" of hoeing corn. The "stint" was duly given and early Monday morning found us in the cornfield, and by Wednesday night the job was done, but we kept on hoeing until Friday night; then we hurried home to get ready for and early start the next morning for our trip to Silver Lake. As we passed Uncle Howell Huntsman’s place, he asked us where we were going, and when we told him, he said that if his boys would get enough wood for their mother to do the baking, they could go with us.

We would have preferred to have gone alone but did not think that it would be polite to say so, for we did not want to be delayed. So we helped them get the wood and carry it into the house, then we all started again for the Lake. When we got to the timber we left the boys to get their bait, fully expecting them to follow and overtake us, but we did not see them again until we got back, for they had lost their pail as they also had planned to carry home fish to put in a little lake near where they lived.

Brother Jep and I caught fourteen sunfish and perch, which we thought would be about all that we could safely try to carry so far without changing the water. With so many breathing in so little water we were afraid that we might lose all of them.

As we passed Mr. Huntsman’s place on the way home we were surprised to learn his boys had lost their pail and still more surprised that Uncle Howell blamed us and intended to hold us responsible for the loss. We had had absolutely nothing to do with the pail. I guess that he must have been joking but we though he was in earnest at the time

Our fish were all alive when we got home as we had changed the water as often as possible on the way. When we gave them their liberty, they soon disappeared in the deep water. I think that it was the next year that we saw a sunfish in its bed, and in two years more we began to catch them. Soon we had the best fish pond for miles around, but we were still not satisfied.

Having heard that an old man with a seine was to be at Fish Lake where there were plenty of black bass, I took a large meat tub in the wagon and in company with John Argabrite, set out for Fish Lake. We met the party with the seine, and got permission to help in hauling it in until we got a nice lot of black bass. After filling the tub with water we started for home, a distance of eight miles. We got them home alright and set the fish at liberty as we had the others.

I did not stay long enough at the Lake to catch any of the bass, but Brother Jep and Albert Hunt caught a fine string of twenty-five bass one day after Jep came back from Oregon in 1865. No doubt many another boy has enjoyed the fishing at Hunt’s Lake and that is sufficient pay for all the trouble that we experienced stocking that beautiful sheet of water with fish.

THE WOLF HUNT

When I was about twelve years old, the citizens of Rolling Prairie and the immediate vicinity in LaPorte County, were being severely annoyed by coyotes or prairie wolves. So they decided to organize a general wolf hunt. Arrangements were made to gather all the help possible and surround a territory some fifteen miles in diameter. They planned a real wolf hunt, one that would really clean out these pests. Proper leaders, captains and lieutenants were assigned to the various sections of the line. Horn signals were arranged so that all would start together, and so that the leaders would know from time to time where the lines were. The men and boys, for boys counted too, were to come with horns and dogs but all guns were to be left at home. The plan being that as the line gradually closed in around the wolves they would be held in a small center and then a designated party of expert riflemen would exterminate the wolves one at a time.

Of course I wanted to go, and father consented to let me go with him although he was no hunter. The day was set and each man had an appointed place to start in the line, around the outside of the circle. The hour of the start of the big drive was to be at eight o’clock A.M. A starting horn was to be sounded, and every man hearing this horn, was to blow his horn so that all would start together, all around the circle.

It was soon evident that in spite of the plan and definite instructions that no guns were to be brought, to avoid miscellaneous shots and some one getting hurt, that many had brought guns. As the circle became smaller the reports of guns were heard more often. It was generally supposed that we had a large number of varmints enclosed. We could tell this because of the great number of shots. We supposed that possibly a few might escape, but as the circle became smaller and the men in the line closer together, we would be sure to hold them. Some how on our particular part of the line we had not yet seen any coyotes, and not even a deer.

I was very much provoked that I happened to be in that part of the line where there were no coyotes, and was all for going over to the other side where all the varmints were. I am not sure now just how father kept me in my proper place but I was really provoked . I had a little smooth-bore gun that Nicholas Smith had given me and I felt that if I had only been allowed to bring it, as so many had done, I could really have gotten one or two coyotes at least. Others carried guns, I had a gun and could shoot and I, also should have been allowed to bring it. I really felt that I had been unjustly discriminated against. The mere fact that the order had been given, "No guns in the line," did not satisfy me. I just kept boiling, If my father had only allowed me to come by myself, why, when I found that there were no coyotes in our part of the line, I would have had enough sense to go over where the coyotes were. But Father was not to be budged. We had been assigned to that part of the line and that is where we would march.

The circle was now growing smaller and still the shooting increased. Finally the signal agreed upon was given for all to break the line and come together, for the final massacre, and the men with the guns closed in, joined by the expert marksmen held in reserve for this particular event. As we gathered in, Father inquired of each man as we met them as to how many coyotes had been killed near him. So far as we had yet learned, no one had seen a dead coyote. Some said that they thought that they had hit one. Off to one side we saw a little commotion and went over to see; well one man had killed a deer. When all were finally assembled not one single dead coyote could be accounted for. Some said that the dead coyotes had just hid out.

After sixty years of trying to figure out the cause of this complete and absolute fizzle of the "Big Hunt," I have finally arrived at the conclusion, that the failure was due to two primary causes; First a scarcity of coyotes, and , second to a great surplus of poor marksmen.

A DAY OF HAPPINESS AND ANOTHER OF SORROW

Steven Parnell was one of my particular friends of sixty years ago. He taught school in the same hewed log schoolhouse, where I also tried to teach about a year later. We had been intimate friends for a couple of years before that. He became acquainted with a young lady, who lived near Plymouth, in Marshall County, Indiana. They were to be married soon and he invited me to the wedding, but I felt that I could not leave my school for so long a time. The wedding was to take place about thirty miles away, and there was no better means of conveyance than a carriage or to go on horseback, and to go either way would take at least two days.

He knew my situation, and did not urge me, but then invited me to the "Infair," at his fathers house where a lot more of his friends were to welcome him and his attractive bride to their new home. The day came and some fifty or seventy five young people were waiting. The greeting was hearty and the crowd almost blocked the way as the popular young couple sought to enter the house. Every one seemed to be just boiling over with happiness. There did not appear to be a cloud in the sky until near dark, when the bridegroom learned that a party of "roughs" were intending to "Bell," them. ( NOTE: L.A. Hunt- these, of course had not been invited to the party. Such occurrences were far from unusual; they were some times called "Belling’ because a lot of cow-bells were used in this rough serenade; also some times called Chivaree.)

In that country it was considered a disgrace to be treated in that way. Now a serenade, with proper music, was always more than welcome. Steven consulted with a number of his friends, as to what he should do but I think that he did not talk to his father about it. But as all were anxious to help him give the slip to the "Bellers," it was finally arranged for he and his wife to go to a near neighbors. In this way it was hopped to turn the tables on the "roughnecks."

Some one told his father that the couple had left, and then the old gentlemen, though ordinarily a very pleasant, quiet man, felt that his guest were being disgraced by his son’s leaving. Now all that I heard speak, understood just why he had left, and were pleased that he would, in this way turn the trick, on the "Bellers." But his father was a Kentuckian, who could not bear to have anything take place, that could in anyway be construed as disrespect to his guests.

And so some who knew were in the secret of where the young folks had gone, followed them, and after explaining how his father felt, brought them back again to his father’s house, but his father would not, even when all was explained to him, be reconciled to what he considered an affront to his guests.

All the guest tried to pass it off without notice but, such an occurrence could not but put a damper over the spirit of the party, although we all knew that neither he nor his father had intended anything out of the way.

About five weeks after the wedding, a neighbor of Parnell’s had a house "raising." The building was a log cabin, put up on the ground near where the logs had been cut, as is often the case in a timbered country. I think that the walls had about reached the height where the loft must be provided for. At this point, in some unaccountable manner, those who were raising a log, or pushing it up, to its position in the building, let one fall.

It caught Stephen Parnell’s head against a stump, and killed him instantly. Some of the men carried the sad news to Stephen’s wife. When she heard this news she fell to the floor as if she had been shot. And so ends a story that I have never before written, although it is as fresh in my memory today, as if it had only happened a few days ago.

AFRAID IN THE DARK

One evening, when I was about fourteen or fifteen years old, I was coming from old Mrs. Hatfield’s house, which was about a half mile from my father’s house, and I had to cross Father’s sugar orchard on the way.

I had just climbed the first fence, which was about half way home when I heard some very loud screams. They sounded as if they were made by some wild animal, but as Brother Jep and I often played jokes on one another, I just supposed that it was him, as I knew that he knew where I had gone, as did also another neighbor boy. I was sure that it was them and that they had hitched up this plan to try to scare me. I walked briskly along, thoroughly enjoying how I would have the laugh on them.

I was just passing the sugar camp, where we boiled the maple sap into syrup, and then some of the syrup into sugar, there were two large maple trees, that stood within about thirty or forty feet of each other, and about the same distance from the road that I was traveling as I passed the camp.

Just as I got about even with those two trees, a scream that really made my hair stand on end, came, apparently, from the top of one of those maple trees. That scream spoiled the joke for me. It was the first time that I had any idea that it was not Jep, and his friend, trying to scare me. Now I realized that it really was some wild animal, and it seemed near enough and high enough to just jump right out of the tree onto me.

I broke into as fast a run as my legs could muster, expecting every moment to feel the sharp claws of some wild animal in my back. I ran for every thing that I was worth and when I came to the fence that separated the fields from the sugar orchard, I crossed it and scarcely touched a rail. When I got home, Brother Jep and the neighbor boy were out in the yard with Old Tige, our dog; Tige was barking for all he was worth, and the boys had been listening for some time to these screams, of a wildcat or a cougar, which ever it was.

We got the old flintlock rifle, and taking the dog, started back to see if we could find and almost afraid that we would, whatever it was. The dog would not go on ahead of us, and would not leave our heels at all. Well it was too dark to shoot we decided and then turned back with a real feeling of relief that we never found it.

SMALL BOYS’ FUN

(NOTE: L. A. Hunt -This is a story that should have been in the Wayne Co., group but I am going to set it in here, for some other small boy might get a kick out of it. No we never found near all of the John M. Hunt stories but such as we found I have tried to set down. They all taken together tend to show the life that was lived by the Pioneers.)

A few months before we left Wayne County, Indiana, brothers James and Thomas and I got permission to go to Uncle John Whitehead’s to stay over night. Uncle John"s was always a good place for us to go, for he and Aunt Kate seemed glad to see us. It would be well if we could always remember, when in the company of children that it is important to treat them kindly, and this gain their friendship for life. Impressions made in childhood are generally as lasting as life itself.

There were several nice things at Uncle John’s that pleased us boys, one was that he had such large red apples with white specs all over them, and with a peculiarly rich flavor, some kind of a pippin. Then there were such delicious pears too. What kind of a boy would not love such fruit. Then there was John’s Creek, that ran through his place; with its gravel bed of nice smooth stones just right for throwing at a mark. Then there were fish in that creek too, lots of fish; some even as much as six inches long. But to us boys they were fine fellows and oh how carefully we would put the hook down before them. Well they did not always pay much attention to the bait, just sometimes. But I have another incident to relate.

About dark on the evening of which I write, Cousin Newton Whitehead, who was about brother James age, hung a kettle over the kitchen fire. (NOTE: L. A. Hunt - you notice he did not say on the kitchen stove. Oh, no, instead of a kitchen stove there was the kitchen fire place, then another fireplace in the main room.)

Then he and James went out to play. When we asked Newton what was in the kettle, he said it was water to have to wash our feet when we quit playing. Now Milton Whitehead was brother Thomas’s playmate and he decided to investigate that kettle and lo and behold it was maple syrup. Milton got a cup for himself and another each, for Brother Thomas and I. We kept those cups busy carrying syrup out to the rain-trough to cool, so we could drink it.

I think that Uncle John and Aunt Katie must have known what was going on because the door between the kitchen and the living room was open, but they both liked a good joke and no doubt were enjoying the fun. After drinking all the syrup we wanted, we waited for James and Milton to return; we wondered just what Newton would say when he saw what had happened to his warm foot water, and it had nearly all dried up.

They soon came in and I can still see the disgust on his face as he saw how the syrup had wasted away, while they were gone. Then he turned an enquiring eye in our direction, especially toward Milton, whose mischievous eye told plainly enough what had happened, to his foot water. But there was still about enough for them so after a good laugh all was well once more.

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Many years ago, the farmers used to jerk their corn in the fall and throw it under a shed near the corn crib; then they would husk it at night or on rainy days, the last winter before we left Wayne County, my father had thrown a lot of corn under this shed and near our crib, and on one of the nights we sat down to husk corn, and old fashioned tin lantern with a tallow candle for light was hung up so we could see to work, that is to husk the corn and to throw it into the crib. Then Father gave us this sentence to parse. It is taken from Homer’s Iliad:

"Young Hector wrapped in everlasting sleep,

Shall neither see thee sigh nor see thee weep."

I have forgotten the rest of the lesson, but we spent two hours husking corn and studying grammar at the same time.

(NOTE: L. A. Hunt - remember that the Lamb School where these boys attended was the first school in Wayne County to teach grammar. Now how many who read this can parse that sentence?)

AN OLD SOLDIER’S STORY

A Revolutionary War soldier used to visit us some times. His name was David Thompson, We boys were always glad to see him come as he liked to tell stories of old time, either of some of the battles he had been in or some other strange event. We boys believed every word he said then and now after all these years I think that he told us the truth.

I remember that on one of his visits, that father and mother were both gone, and would not be home for hours. But he did not seem to mind. He felt right at home and sat down to talk to us boys. He began by telling us some of the battles he had been in but as I remember he was not wounded in any battle. He had had a stroke of palsy several years before we knew him, but this had affected only his left side.

He said that when he was mustered out of the service, he did get his discharge paper, but he thought that it would never be any good to him and so it was lost. He did however tell father who his captain was and that he was in General Green’s Army, and father tried to get him a pension, but there was something lacking and Mr. Thompson died a poor but I think, a deserving man.

In those days of course there were no railroads to carry the discharged soldiers home. There was no telegraph to send word ahead. The men after being discharged had to find their way home the best way that they could. Often, they themselves would be the first to tell the folks that the war was over.

And so when he was discharged, he just shouldered his gun and knapsack and started for home. Somewhere along the road he noticed some fruit by the roadside. It was red and looked as if it was good to eat and he tasted some and the taste was not unpleasant, at least not at first but pretty soon it began to pucker his mouth up so he could hardly talk. He thought that he was poisoned. He started on and went in to the first house that he came to. He could hardly speak but he made out to tell them that he had eaten some fruit down the road and he thought he was poisoned. As soon as they understood that he had eaten that red fruit, the man laughed at him and said he had just eaten some green persimmons and that he would soon be alright.

His log cabin stood near the road, and it was after dark when he got home. He said that he slipped up to the chimney, and to the log wall that was chinked with mud. He very slowly worked a piece of chink loose so that he could look in. There sat his wife, all alone, knitting by the fire.

He said he stuck his gun into the hole between the logs and fired against the opposite wall of the house. I just imagine that his wife was a little startled. However I guess that if a woman lived on the frontier she might get used to such a home coming.

One spring, one of our neighbors, Mr. William Sherick, was in poor health for several months, He was not able to plow or seed his land. The neighbors saw the situation and set a day when anyone who could and saw fit would come with team, plow and harrows to put in his crop. Everyone was invited. Mr. Sherick had wheat and oats for seed.

The day came and with it a whole crowd of men and women as well as teams and proper tools for the job. Before the day was done all the land was nicely plowed and seeded and the harrowing completed and all the work nicely tidied up.

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It was late in the fall one year when the neighbors noticed that deacon Reed’s corn was not all harvested, and still in the field exposed to the prairie chickens and other birds. They set the next Monday to get together to help him get out his corn.

On Sunday night we had a snowfall of about four inches, but the men and boys all met at Mr. Reed’s place Monday morning and told what they had come for. They seemed even more anxious to work than if they had been expecting pay.

The help was unsolicited but the Deacon let them have their way, and in a few minutes the wagon was in the field and the "battle of the Bangboards " commenced. ( NOTE: L. A. Hunt - For those who may not be familiar with a bangboard, it was a wide board set slightly above the middle of the top of the wagon box. Ears of corn were thrown from both sides of the wagon against this bangboard which kept the corn from going over the wagon.)

The deacon was to drive the team, as with so many picking, there were two or more men to each row of corn on each side of the wagon, as well as the "down row" which the wagon straddled. The leader of the boys was Jim Wilson, and as he had picked corn out of the snow before, he knew that under those circumstances you either worked your very hardest or froze. Everybody seemed to be doing their best but Wilson kept urging the boys to work faster, even as they were doing the deacon could hardly keep the team up with the pickers. Well by night the corn was all gathered and the Deacon was greatly pleased, but I am sure he was no happier than the boys themselves.

This is only a couple of the many illustrations as to how Pioneers helped one another.

BOYS WILL BE BOYS

One wintery day when it had been snowing much of the time during the last night, and there was nearly a foot of snow on the ground, brother James and John Mason, who were both boiling over with fun and love of adventure, concluded that they could run a deer down and proceeded at once to put the idea to the test.

In less than and hour they found where several deer had passed not long before as the tracks were not yet covered by snow. They immediately set out after them in a fast walk, not intending to slip up on them carefully as hunters usually do. They just expected to wear the deer out by continuous exercise. It did not take long to start their game, when like two hounds they set out at full speed and for some time kept the deer almost continuous on the move, and circling around in the woods east and north of Hunts Lake.

The deep snow began to tell upon our young hunters although they would not have confessed it. Several times they got in sight of the deer and this encouraged them. They still hoped to tire the deer out. After two or three rounds in the woods where they started and finding the pursuers so close after them the deer finally decided to set a northeast course, apparently intending to go to the grapevine woods. Already the boys were beginning to lose heart but followed the deer until near New Carlisle, at least five miles from home in a direct line. It was several times that distance by the route we had followed. It was now nearly dark and the boys finally gave up the chase. They reached home a little after dark, now satisfied that a deer could outdistance a man, over either a long or short distance.

SICKNESS AND DEATH

The summer and fall of 1838 was know as the "Sickly Season," especially in Northern Indiana. For through all that part of the state, there were hardly enough well persons to care for the sick. Bilious fever and ague were so prevalent, that at one time quinine brought fifteen dollars and ounce, and but very little could be bought even at that price. Doctors had to resort to various remedies for various diseases. One common remedy was boneset. This herb could be found in almost every neighborhood. Peruvian bark was another that was also used, but nearly all substitutes for quinine were failures.

Our family had not been well since leaving Wayne County, at least we had had more than our usual amount of sickness. Brother Vance died in the fall of 1836. Then my mother died in 1837; her death was an irreparable loss to all of us. As father was still with us we did not fully realize our loss. Aunt Katie Whitehead and Jasper’s wife Polly came often to our house, to "right things up," and nearly always there were a lot of things that needed "Righting." They continued this practice until the older brothers brought their wives to the old house.

One day in the fall of 1838, when we were all down sick, Brother William, who was often delirious after a hard chill, (NOTE: L. A. Hunt - ague was a very severe trial in that part of the new country) came into the part of the house where James and I were lying, and wanted to know where his sword was. He said, "The British are coming and there is going to be a big battle fought right here in a few minutes."

James said, "I guess that you will have to fight it yourself as we are both too sick to help you."

After parading up and down the room for a while, waiting for the British, he walked calmly down to the melon patch, still delirious, and there were plenty of ripe melons, as none of us had been well enough for some time to touch a melon, he picked a ripe melon, and sat right down and ate all he wanted of it. Then he came back to the house and went to bed. When he came to, it seemed that he was none the worse for the melon.

We lay there in bed or around the house for the greater part of each day for many days, listening to the screaming of the hawks, as they lazily circled around overhead, too sick to do anything about them. I learned to hate that scream. I have not often heard it since without thinking of the summer we were all so sick and the sun so hot.

CHURCH LIFE ON ROLLING PRAIRIE

It was not long after the settlement at Hunt’s Lake, that Uncles John Whitehead, Lazarus Whitehead, and William Hunt and their families and cousin Joseph Long and his family and possibly some others came from Wayne County and settled on Rolling Prairie, in LaPorte County.

Just as in the early settlement of Wayne County, these new settlers in LaPorte County realized the need for a house of worship. At first a log schoolhouse was built to serve both as a school and as a house of worship, this answered for a while but soon we had an evangelist by the name of Brown, who came to assist Elder Hastings in holding a protracted meeting in the schoolhouse. But it was soon apparent that this building could not accommodate the crowds that came, and as there had been many additions to the church, the brethren and sisters began to agitate the propriety of building a new church.

But before I say anything about the new church, I want to tell a little more about the protracted meeting. This, as near as I can recall, took place in the year 1840. There had been some additions to the church since its organization, and before this meting but my memory fails to recall their names. I think that cousin J.M. Whitehead, and cousin Stephen Hunt and Brother Thomas, were among them.

But there is on day that I shall never forget; that was the day when a large number of new members, principally cousins, were received into that little church, and Brother James and I were among that number.

Then when that large congregation repaired to the lake near our house, to witness the administration of the solemn ordinance of baptism; and when down near the water some one began singing that old hymn, beginning with the words,

"The glorious light is spreading far and wide,

And sinners now are coming upon the gospel tide."

It all made a picture that can never fade from my memory.

Then the congregation joined in the singing. At the water Elder Hastings, after prayer, handed his coat and hat to some one standing near him, then taking a cane waded out into the water to examine the bottom. Then he took one of the candidates for baptism by the arm, and led him out to the proper depth for the administration of the ordinance, and while they were going the congregation sang:

"Then down into the water where the young converts go,

We serve our Lord and Master in righteous acts below;

We lay our sinful bodies beneath the yielding wave,

An emblem of our Saviour when he lay in the grave."

Perhaps some of those looking on may have thought of that sepulcher in the Holy Land, "Hewn out of the Rock," for the watery grave before them was somewhat similar. It was cut from solid ice several inches thick with a cross-cut saw. It was not a bad representation of Joseph’s ne tomb.

The candidates were all immersed, one after another, and each waiting to see the others baptised, and with nothing to shield them from the cold but their coats thrown over their shoulders. After the baptisms were all completed, they all started for the house where a good hot fire was blazing in each fireplace, the one for the women and the other for the men. Here they all changed to dry clothes . As they had turned to go to the house from the lake, they began the son,

"Christians if your hearts are warm,

Ice and snow can do no harm."

Yes that was a memorable day in my life.

My mother was a member of the Missionary Baptist Church in Elkhorn, in Wayne County. I am certain that my father had been a Christian, for a great many years, but he did not unite with the church until about 1839 or 1840.

As for myself, I cannot remember the time when I did not prey every night, just as my mother had taught me, but I did not join the church until as just now related.

The first Sunday School that I attended was superintended by a Mr. Blackburn. The school was four miles from Hunts Lake. Brothers James, Thomas and I dressed in home-made linen, and with palm-leaf hats, could have been often seen that summer, walking that four miles and back again, not realizing but that we were dressed in the latest style. The next year we had a Sunday School taught in our own school house, which was kept up for many years thereafter.

Another item that made a big impression on me at the time and still affects my life, was when Brother Thomas united with the Church on Rolling Prairie. In a few days after this Brother Thomas asked Father if he would object to Thomas reading a chapter in the Bible and having prayer in the evening. Father told him that he was not only willing, but would be glad to join if he would lead. This began our family worship, which Brother Thomas carried on until some of the older brothers joined in to help out.

I cannot now recall the exact year that the brethren decided to build the new church but it must have been about 1840. But I do remember very well helping to haul the logs to Fisher’s mill at Sauktown, the only sawmill that I ever heard of that was run by a tread wheel. ( NOTE: L. A. Hunt -The use of tread power used to be quite common for small jobs prior to the development of the steam engine. In this arrangement one or more horses were led into a stall, the floor of which was a movable, wooden slat draper, running over a rather large drum at the front end. When the brake was set draper was held stationary; but when the break was released the horses had to keep walking up the short incline of the draper floor, and this turned the drum. Then a belt from the pulley on the drum shaft permitted power to be taken anywhere.)

I do not know whether all the lumber came from Fisher’s mill or not, but all the material for the church was soon on the ground. Then old Mr. Salisbury, and Uncle Lazarus Whitehead, and perhaps others who were carpenters, took the oversight of the work, and everyone who could use a saw, and augur or a chisel, came to do all that they could. (NOTE: L. A. Hunt - the kinds of tools. Modern carpenters would have been lost on that job.) I was too young to do any of the frame work but was glad to see it go on.

The site chosen for the new church was a little north of the Schoolhouse. The frame was soon up and covered and the building completed..

THE CHURCH ON ROLLING PRAIRIE

There was one excellent appendage to this church that we rarely see attached to a building of that kind, and that was a shed for the teams to stand in during stormy weather, and for shade during the hot weather of summer. This was a merciful attachment that should never be overlooked nor forgotten. For the Good Book says, "A good man will be merciful to his beast," and again, "Blessed are the merciful for they will obtain mercy."

The Baptist Church on Rolling Prairie, has always been a dear spot to all those who grew up there. In that house many of us witnessed the ordination of three cousins at one time to become Baptist Ministers. Two of them have gone to their reward many years ago, Cousin Stephen G. Hunt and Thomas L. Hunt. Cousin J. W. Whitehead is still living as this is being written, in the year 1900, and as I believe, preaches regularly, although he is now seventy-seven years old. Cousin Stephen and Brother Thomas were both called away in the midst of a busy life and each died lamented by the churches under their charge.

I was present when Brother Thomas preached his farewell sermon at a church where he was the pastor and when he sat down there was scarce a dry eye in his congregation.

The Association, or the annual meetings of the churches of Northern Indiana, were sometimes held in our church at Rolling Prairie. These were memorable occasions, when the well remembered faces of Elder Hastings, Samuel Tucker, Sawin, and Hummer together with the three ministers who were ordained there, and of course many other ministers also were there. The picture would not be complete without the mention of Jasper Hunt, Alonzo Bettys, Joseph Long, David Stoner, John Hefner, Wm. H. Whitehead and among the sisters might nearly always be seen, Aunt Katie Whitehead, Wm. H. Hunts wife and Elizabeth Hefner, Mary Hunt, Nancy Hunt and Grandma Long. With many others, both brothers and sisters, that the passing years have still not blotted from my memory.

Besides religious meetings at this house, our celebrations were sometimes held there, One of which I will speak of as I had a little part in it that recalls it to my mind, a little better than the others. At a meeting called for the purpose of making arrangements for the celebration, after the arrangements for a speaker and suitable music for the occasion, and the choosing of the marshal for the day, and the dinner committee, Cousin J. N. Whitehead presented my name to be the reader of The Declaration Of Independence. This struck me so forcibly that I hardly knew whether to refuse or accept. Had it not been for my natural bashfulness, before such a crowd, and want of ability to even attempt to excuse myself, I am sure I would have refused. But in my confusion I let the opportunity to do so pass. It was not until the meeting was over that I realized just what was before me. When Brother Franklin came home he had me read the instrument aloud to him a few times and I read it over several times by myself.

The day finally arrived when I was to read it publicly, and as I had to sit in the pulpit with the chaplain, and all the speakers I felt that the eyes of the whole congregation were on me and thinking me a poor looking specimen for the task ahead. But the most trying time came when I had to step forward and read. I certainly, in that moment would have been glad to have been some where else, but my timidity soon gave way and I began to read and actually lived through the ordeal.

W. H. Whitehead was Marshall of the day, and when the exercises were over in the church, he formed the procession, with the National Flag in front, the music next, then came the chaplains and the other speakers; this was followed by the different Sunday Schools and their banners, then the other children brought up the rear with the other citizens.

Then Grandpa Salisbury, with his wife and his sword, and Darias with his snare drum furnished such music as all good Americans love while everyone marched to the little grove about a quarter of a mile from the church. There the long table was loaded with more than enough good things to satisfy the hungry group that surrounded it. Those grand old celebrations, free from all the mock patriotism, all too common these days; when horse racing and gambling take the place of the fife and drum, how I would like to participate in one once more. (NOTE: L. A. Hunt - These were common in my early boyhood too, and I can recall attending several but now they seem to have gone out of style.)

I often think of the protracted meeting that was held at this church so many years ago, when Uncle William Hunt’s boys and my younger brothers and I would walk to the church together, for weeks together. And some times when it was very cold and the ground was covered with snow, I can almost hear it cracking under our frozen boots as we stepped quickly along. We would often watch the Northern Lights, and look at the bright stars overhead and try to pick out the few that we could call by name.

Sometimes our display of Northern Lights was so as it streamed across the sky that we were reminded of the words of the poet,

"For we knew by the steamers that shot so bright,

That the spirits were riding the Northern Lights.

We lived on the shores of Hunts Lake for fifteen years. Some of the happiest days of my life was spent during this time. This was a period of my live when much that was not gold, glittered. But it all adds to the memories of those days. I remember that in October one year we got about a foot of very wet snow, the only such storm that I remember that early. I still recall how the apples looked on the trees under that snow. Also, there was a bunch of ducks out on the lake that were much peeved because they could not get to their accustomed feed ground. And I was peeved too because I had a bad boil on one foot and could not properly care for them.

TEACHING SCHOOL

A little circumstance occurred about this time that greatly affected my whole life. Uncle John Hefner came to our house at the Lake to try to get Brother Thomas to teach the district school in his neighborhood. Thomas was already employed to teach our school, and he told Uncle John that he though that I could teach his school. Now although I was not yet eighteen years of age, I was engaged to teach and to begin, I think on the following Monday.

Brother Franklin often visited our (my) school and that was a great help. It enabled me to do a much better job that I otherwise might have done. I now began teaching at a school where I taught twenty months altogether. (Note: L. A. Hunt - I assume that this was in short terms of not more than three or four months at a time.) I was never prepared to teach a good school, but with the help of my brother, the Doctor, and the forbearance of my patrons, I was permitted to keep my job.

It was here that I met and became acquainted with Sarah Ann Argabrite, to whom I was married, soon after the close of my School, on November 28, 1847.

The children born to us were, William Argabrite, Marion Hefner, James Lewis, Rebecca Bryan, Arthur Franklin, Charles Harvey, George Whitehead, Jeptha Vance, and Herbert Wilson.

William, our eldest son died when only eighteen months old in Lake County, Indiana. Marion died in Cerro Gordo County, Iowa, when a little over six years old, and Jeptha died near Oakland, Oregon, when he was about sixteen years of age. The rest are all living as this is being written, July, 1900.

My children were always a great comfort to me, and doubly so now in my enfeebled condition and having lost my life long companion, their mother who died on the 22^nd day of February, 1898.

"Full five and fifty years ago, perhaps I should not tell,

I chanced to meet a little maid whose features pleased me well

As she was young, and so was I we little knew of life,

But then and there I thought this maid would be my future wife

And so it proved as time flew by - how rapid in its flight;

For scarce does noonday come ‘till evening brings night.

Our morning sky was bright and fair, so was the sun at noon;

But evening clouds o’er spread the sky and night came all too soon.

For fifty years, as arm in arm, we trod the path of life,

No truer soul was ever found than was my dearest wife.

While I with many, many faults, along life’s journey strewn,

Must bid farewell to one so true and tread the path alone."

(NOTE: L. A. Hunt - Grandfather wrote a great many poems some of which were published but we have very few copies left now.)

THE TRAVELERS

In 1844, Brother James and Henry Williamson, having heard about the Oregon Country, had fitted out a team and wagon for a trip across the plains, and came by my school to bid me Good Bye, on their way to Cincinnati, Ohio, where they expected to take a steamer down the Ohio, to the Mississippi, then up that river to Council Bluffs, where they expected to meet a company, who like themselves were on the way to the Oregon Territory.

I was expecting them, and as they drove to the door I went out and shook hands with them. I felt at the time I would never see them again, for in those days we knew less of Oregon than we did of darkest Africa. I returned to the house and watched them as they drove away, from the window, until the wagon was hidden by the timber. My mind filled with fear of the unknown dangers that lay ahead of them on their trip. I have forgotten whether we received any letters from them before they reached their destination but suppose that we did, although mail facilities in those days was far from good. There had been but very few emigrant trains across the plains in 1844.

About two years from the time they left, Brother William and I were in LaPorte, when we were told that Brother James and Henry Williamson had passed through the town while we were there, although we did not see them. We were told also that their pack horses and strange Spanish Saddles, with large wooden stirrups, and many other strange items in their outfit had attracted a great deal of attention. (NOTE: L. A. Hunt - These two men had made the trip east across the plains on horseback. Probably there were not east bound wagon trains at that time.)

When we learned that they had left town and gone home, we were not long in getting ready to follow. We hurried the horses along pretty fast hoping to overtake them, but they, too, were anxious to get home after so long an absence. They wanted to see the friends and relatives that they had left behind two years ago, and learn if all were still living. They had unsaddled their horses and were busy telling of their trip, when we got home, and of the many strange sights they had seen.

Henry Williamson came back for a girl by the name of Ann Belshaw, who had promised to marry him when he came back from Oregon. She died just a few weeks before their return. The boys came by where her father lived in Lake County, on their way home, and had not even heard that she was sick. What a terrible shock it must have been when her mother met the boys at the door to break the sad new to Henry. He then came on with Brother James to Rolling Prairie, and stayed a short time and then went on to his fathers home in Cincinnati, Ohio. After a visit there he returned to the Pacific Coast.

Mrs. Thomas Belshaw, Ann’s mother, told how that Ann had prayed that she could at least live until Henry got back. She told how in those last months when she had no hope of getting well, that she would spend hours in just looking down the road, to see if he might not be coming in sight, yet always to be disappointed.

It soon became known that Brother James had returned from Oregon, and visitors came from many miles around to see him and to learn from one who had been there, what they could about the country. Of course they wanted to know about the climate; what kinds of grain were raised and about garden vegetables. Then what varieties of timber and the kinds of fish and game, etc. Some of these visitors were so well pleased by what they heard that they sold their farms and moved on to Oregon the very next year.

Of course they had many tales to tell but we shall set down only the following.

When James and Henry met the company with whom they expected to make the trip to Oregon, near Council Bluffs, and were ready to cross the Missouri River, the ferryman wanted so much to ferry their horses over that they considered it an extortion. Henry and James proposed that they swim their horses over. Now the river was pretty wide at this point and there were few volunteers. James and Henry believed that it could be done, and agreed to undertake the task. They made two or three attempts before they succeeded but finally all the horses were across on the other shore. Then when the wagons were ferried over they were ready to proceed on their journey.

Men who will brave dangers of crossing the plain as early as James and Henry did (1844) are not likely to be stopped by trifles. Somewhere on the way to Oregon occurred an incident that showed the kind of stuff that Henry was made of. He was driving his team along one day when a few Indians came up and one of them struck one of Henry’s lead oxen with a stick and with much loud yelling of "Chee," "Haw," frightened the oxen and they started to try to get away.

Then Henry brought his heavy ox whip down across the Indians shoulders with all the emphasis he possessed, and the Indian began to run off as fast as the oxen had wanted to, while the other Indians really gave the discomfited brave a real laugh, in which the other white men joined in. It may well be supposed that that Indian waited the next time that he had the urge, until he was asked to help drive oxen.

On their way back from Oregon one night, James was standing watch over their horses, when he saw a dark object crawling slowly along the ground. He watched until he was sure it was an Indian intending to steal their horses. So he made a run for him and came so close to the Indian that he dropped his buffalo robe and James took it to camp. The next morning several Indians came into camp and wanted the buffalo robe. The men told the Indians that if they would bring in the one who lost the robe they would give it to him. This the Indians would not do, so after waiting quite a while they finally gave them the robe. There were only eleven men and four guns in the entire party, and they could not afford to be too sassy in a hostile Indians country.

LEAVING HUNTS LAKE

(NOTE: L. A. Hunt - Mrs. Beverly Yount, in her history of the Hunt family has set down the full copy of the wills of the various American Ancestors, I believe all of them in the family tree. If anyone is interested and it could be important in connection with obtaining membership in some special group, these may be found in her book. I have tried more to show something of the kind of life our forefathers lived, from day to day and have therefore left out much that is really important. But at this point I would like to refer briefly to the will of Col. George Hunt, who died in 1842 and whose will was probated in Feb. 1843.

It will be remembered that James Hunt was born in 1819 and John in 1826 while Thomas was born somewhere in between, and that Jeptha was born in 1829.

By the terms of Col. George Hunt’s will, John M. and Jeptha were given joint ownership of a quarter section of land. Now it would appear that Jep was not yet twenty-one until 1850. while John was not yet of age before 1847. It is to be noted that Jep and John did not remain at Rolling Prairie long after the property could be disposed of.)

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In the fall of 1850 we sold our home at Hunts Lake in LaPorte County and in company with Brother James, my wife and little William, we moved to Lake County, Indiana, where we each bought a piece of land near the mouth of Cedar Creek, where it empties into the Kankakee marsh. (NOTE: L. A. Hunt - According to the 1850 census James was living with his sister and her husband, but was probably married at this time.)

Brother Thomas was the pastor of the church at Cedar Lake. It was here that my wife made her first public confession, and was baptised by Brother Thomas, in the outlet of Cedar Creek, in about the year 1851.

It was only a few months after we arrived in Lake County that our only child, little William, was taken sick with the Bilious fever and although we had a doctor, the little fellow left us in just a few days. We buried him in Sander’s Cemetery, near Belshaw’s Grove, in Lake County, where Brother Thomas was to be buried only a few years later.

OFF FOR IOWA

The loss of our only child perhaps helped to make us dissatisfied with Lake County. But Uncle John Hefner and some other reliable men had been as far west as Floyd County, Iowa, and liked the country very much.

In March, 1853, we sold our home at Cedar Creek, in Lake Co., to Cousin Peter Burhans. Our intentions were to go to Oregon then but Brother Thomas had been failing quite rapidly in health and we were afraid to go so far away. He told us to go on out to Iowa and as soon as he got better he would join us.

I was loath to leave him but Brother James was with him and besides he had his wife, and I knew that he would want for nothing and of course we hoped that he would soon be able to join us. Before we left we placed a marble slab to show where our little William was buried.

I engaged a young man by the name of O. C. Ford, to drive one of my teams. I had one mule team and one team of oxen. We left Lake County on the twentieth day of March, 1853. We drove by the way of Chicago, little more than a village then, and from there took the most direct route to Dubuque, Iowa, where we crossed the Mississippi River and there bought our supplies, for our journey, as well as some housekeeping supplies to be used after our arrival.

We were a little more than a month on this relatively short journey. It rained a good share of the time and the roads, if any, were unusually muddy. Feed for the teams was very scarce. The country was new and this early in the season there was practically no grass. It seemed that the nearer we got to our destination the more scarce was the feed for the teams.

On the second night preceding our arrival, we stopped and camped at Uncle Jacob Beeler’s place, but he also had no feed for the teams. We had crossed several badly swollen streams; the mud was hard on the teams and they were worn down. Uncle Jacob told us that Hiram Wilfong had preceded us only a few days and he thought that we would find him at a place called Rock Grove.

We drove on the next day and made a few miles and camped again with only such feed as the stock could pick by themselves. The next morning we started but we had gone only a little way when I saw that the teams had finally given out, and must have rest. So I turned them loose to forage for themselves.

Then I started out on foot to try and reach Rock Grove, which I thought was only a few miles farther on. I hoped to get Uncle Hiram to help me on up to the Grove. When I got opposite to where the Hardman place now is, I heard someone chopping, and following the sound, soon came to where a number of men were raising his cabin. Among them was Uncle Hiram and his son-in-law, William Clarke, both of whom I had known back in Indiana.

With their introductions I was cordially welcomed. Of course I began asking questions about land claims and all the other questions that any newcomer would ask, and from the answers that I received, and from the friendly attitude of my new acquaintances, I was soon satisfied that I was going to become a member of the Rock Grove community.

There were several women preparing dinner for the men raising the cabin, and even upon such short acquaintance, I was invited to stay to dinner. I then returned to my family and the next morning Mr. Clarke came with his team and we were soon ready to pitch our tent by the side of a little brook that ran into the Shellrock River. It was the 28^th day of April 1853, and so we came to Rock Grove. It was named because of a large boulder that looked as if it had been dropped from the sky.

We found that a few of the members of this community had preceded us but by a few days. One family had come the year before and one family had arrived in February of the present year. We were all really new comers in the strictest sense of the word. It was very lucky for my wife and I and for the young man who came with us, O. C. Ford, that we had found among the people of this new settlement, Hiram Wilfong, and William Clarke as well as Mr. Clarke’s father, as we had known them all in LaPorte County. This gave us a suitable introduction to our new neighbors. And we found that in a new country, twenty-four hours of association with a stranger gives one about as much liberty of conversation as twelve months in and old settled community.

ROCK GROVE

We had now left our friends in Lake County. Brother Jep had gone to Oregon, only the previous year, 1852. And of the friends in the Baptist church at Rolling Prairie, where at one time so many relatives were wont to gather, but few now remained. Some went to Kansas, some to Missouri, some to Minnesota, and of course some even farther west. At the old church there were so many new faces. How quickly such changes take place.

It was about three or four weeks after our first coming together, at Rock Grove, that a meeting was called at our house, to make arrangements to erect a cabin for general meetings, and for school purposes. This was the first building built for school and other public purposes in Floyd County, Iowa. There were only ten or twelve men in the grove at the time, but on the day set for the raising, all were on hand. If I am not mistaken, in less than a week, the clapboard roof was on, openings for the door and for the windows had been cut, A stove had been set up, benches and writing tables were made ready. That is how the first Schoolhouse in Floyd County was built.

A little before the schoolhouse had been built, a Methodist minister had come to our house and I invited him to preach. I don’t believe that we had a single chair in the house, but we did have, perhaps a half-dozen stools. We overcame this difficulty by carrying two logs into the house long enough to seat a congregation of about fifteen. On these logs, my wife spread some heavy comforters, doubled. After reading a chapter in the Bible, a hymn was sung. I wish that I could recall the name of the hymn, but it escapes me, neither do I recall the text of the sermon; but it seems to me that that old hymn,

"All hail the power of Jesus Name

Let angels prostrate fall;

Bring forth the royal diadem,

And crown him Lord of all."

Would have been quite appropriate.

We assisted Uncle Hiram Wilfong, and his son-in-law, Mr. Clarke in cutting the logs for their cabins, and in hauling them up to the building spot and then we assisted in raising the cabins. On the day before the raising, Uncle Hiram asked me to go out and try to get some meat for the next day. As I was not a very successful hunter, I failed to find anything until on my way home a single wild goose came flying over me, but pretty high up. As that seemed to be my only chance for meat, I fired both barrels of my shotgun loaded with buckshot, and accidently caught just the tip of one wing with just one buckshot. The goose fell about one hundred yards from where I fired. I carried it to camp and never hinted at just how close I came to total failure.

We had a good dinner with it the next day as hard work and good appetites generally make victuals taste good. In two days from the "raising," we had uncle Hiram’s cabin so we all moved into it, without any floor, and only the just logs cut out for the opening for the doors and windows. A blanket was hung up in the doorway to keep out the night air, and we all slept just as well that night as we ever did afterwards.

It was not many days later that we had our house ready to move into in just about the same condition as Uncle Hiram’s.

A little garden had now to be planted, before we could do anything more to the houses. Besides provisions were getting pretty low, especially meat. Anthony Overacher, my nearest neighbor, and I concluded that we would try for a deer over on Flood Creek. This was about two or three miles away. When we got to the timber where we expected to hunt, I took a stand that seemed to offer a reasonable chance for a deer if one came out. Anthony then went to the other end of the grove and started driving towards me, all the time making enough noise to try, at least to startle a deer out. I waited about half and hour before I saw one bounding almost straight towards me. When I though that he had reached about the proper distance, I fired and the deer fell. We carried him home and as this would last for a week or two for meat, Mr. Overacher and I each took a team and started for the nearest gristmill, sixty-five miles away, over on Turkey River. The name of the little town was Auburn, in Lafayette County, Iowa.

Neither of us had ever been over that way before, but we knew the general direction by the map, a rather rough outline of the territory. We simply guessed at the distance by the time it took us to make the trip. Before we left home I lettered a piece of a dry goods box with ink. I put this up where we struck a dim road that ran toward what finally became Charles City. It did not exist at that time. This sign, for that is what I intended it to be, I put up to mark our return route. It simply pointed to Rock Grove and did not say how many miles. The only road it pointed to was simply the tracks of our two wagons in the grass but for a few days at least one could follow them. We supposed that we had gone about twelve or sixteen miles without any road.

Now we had a very dim one, as we have just mentioned. We followed it until we crossed Wapsipinicon Creek after crossing this stream we again had to take to the prairie for a distance that we estimated to be about sixteen miles. Here we found a fair road for the rest of the way. I forget now just how far we yet had to go, or about how much we thought we were out of our way but I think not very much.

We were glad to see the inside of a store again and to see a gristmill. We soon had what we needed in Auburn. This town already had a few frame houses. We got back home after being away just a little over a week. We had found the road to Auburn and also one to McGregors Landing.

One night while we were gone, the screams of a panther alarmed my wife, as it passed close by our cabin, which had no door. She put little Marion on the bed and got the ax and stood guard at the door until it had passed out of hearing.

This little incident was enough to cause us to prepare some kind of a door. There were no sawmills near so we had to do with out lumber. Uncle Hiram Wilfong was a fairly good carpenter and had a few tools, at least enough to get along with in a new country as he had already helped out a neighbor, I engaged him to help me.

We found a nice straight grained Basswood tree and cut off a length just a little longer than needed for the door, and split it into slabs as near the right thickness as possible, Then we lined one side and made it straight, then with a broad-ax we hewed first one side and then the other and made the edges straight. In this way we finished enough pieces to form the width of the door then we fastened them to a couple of cross pieces with a few nails we happened to have. Now by cutting the door down to the right length it was ready to hang. The hinges were made of leather, and the latch, which was made of wood was on the inside. There was a rawhide latch going through a hole in the door so it could be opened from the outside. The latchstring was to be pulled in at night but was out in the daytime and for friends.

The floor was made in just the same was as the door. The Shellrock River was only about a half mile away, and I hauled enough stone from the river to build the fireplace. Then when I asked Mr. Wilfong about laying up the stone, I found that he could lay stone just as well as he could do carpentry. Then I started chinking the cracks between the logs with such small strips as I could find, and then went out in the yard and mixed up some very stiff mud, which I plastered over the chinked cracks with a wooden trowel. Our furniture was all hewn out with a broad ax and finished with a plane. Our low rough log cabin was now complete, and while it was not fancy by modern standards, we enjoyed this house as much as any we ever lived in.

Our food was as plain as our house but hard work always gives a good appetite, and since our food was as good as our neighbors, we were satisfied. On Sunday we would gather at our little Schoolhouse for Sunday School and after dinner we had singing school. We used the Sacred Melodian for our music and for a teacher we had a Mr. S.P. Bissell. I have seldom heard (L.T. Music ?) since that sounded better to me than that did then.

THE LAND SALE

In the fall of 1854 was the land sale at Fort DesMoines. All of us who had bought or applied for unsurveyed land, and by guess had built our cabins now must get confirmation. Since we had arrived the land had been surveyed and now we must go to Fort DesMoines for the final sale. Each and every applicant was compelled to be there

It was about the first of September when we left Rock Grove with five teams, carrying all the applicants from our district. Our families of course were left behind. Now as there was no road running in the direction of Fort DesMoines, we took a map and a pocket compass. Now as I had the compass I led the way across the prairie. We carried a scythe to cut grass if need be to get over miry sloughs or if needed to cut feed for the teams. It was quite an undertaking to set out to travel with teams, without a road of any kind, and over territory entirely strange to us.

It is nearly fifty years since we undertook that journey but still I remember a few of the little incidents that occurred. One day as we were passing some ponds at the head of the west fork of Red Cedar River, Mr. Wamsley who was with me saw some animal plunge into the pond. We stopped the team and I held my rifle ready. After a minute it raised its head just enough to look around and I fired. As soon as the wake in the water that my bullet made was quieted, as the water was shallow, I saw the animal kick. We waded in and lifted out an otter. As its fur at that time of year had no market value, I gave the otter to Mr. Wamsley, who tanned the skin with the fur on and made a bullet pouch out of it.

A few days after killing the otter, when near the timber line around Wall Lake, we saw three deer running slowly toward the timber. Mr. Wamsley, Elijah Wilfong and I left the wagons to see if we could head the deer off, but they were too fast for us and entered the timber. As soon then as we reached the timber, we spread out to see if we might intercept one or more of them. We had not gone far until I heard Mr. Wamsley shoot and then I heard a deer bawl. We soon found Mr. Wamsley dressing his deer. We only just took out the entrails as it was about time to camp. Now here we had everything, plenty of grass and water for the stock and meat for the pot, and all kinds of wood for the fires.

We soon had all the teams busy getting their supper; some of the men were building fires, and some skinning the deer. As soon as its hide was off, Mr. Wamsley called all hands to share the deer. There was no hanging back; some came with skillets, some with pots and some with only roasting sticks, but everybody had a share and when all was done there was very little left.

We had heard of Wall Lake and now we were camped right on its banks. I should like to give a little description of it if I could. It is about a mile long and a half mile wide. There is a body of timber running about half way around and to the south. It is a rather pretty lake. The wall, so called is I think on the north side of the lake. Now the water in the lake is many feet higher than the prairie below the wall. The wall looks as if it were built by human hands, as there are a lot of large boulders in the wall, as large as a span of horses could draw. Trees are growing along the bank. I don’t remember if there were any fish in the lake or not. Certainly it could be very easily drained and probably has been long before this. ( NOTE: L. A. Hunt - Who built it? You will find another reference to a possible people before the time of the Indians, later.)

A little before bedtime we heard thundering off to the southwest and a very dark cloud made its appearance. We all got our beds ready, and a number of the men were sleeping in a tent. But Edward Beckweth and I stayed in our wagon. It was not long before the wind began to blow and large drops of rain fell and then the wind increased very greatly and there were sharp flashes of lightning. We knew it was no common storm. Above all this we heard the shouts of the others, that the tent had blown down. Such a hustling to find shelter you will not often see. But it was not long before everybody was under shelter of some sort but not before most of them were well soaked first.

The next day was a reasonably good day and while we were moving on someone called out that a fox had cut in ahead of us and dogged into a hole close by. All the teams were stopped and it was decided that we should dig him out. We had brought along a spade just so we could dig for water in case we were not able to find water on the top of the ground.

The land being fairly sandy, in less than a half and hour Reynard’s coat was exposed. The digging now stopped long enough to decide what to do with the fox. All favored giving him a chance for his life. The men with guns were to stand back a little from the mouth of the hole, leaving only one man to punch him out.

When the signal was given, the man with stick began to operate and out bounded the fox. One gun after another fired until all were empty, and the fox seemed to be looking back to see if there were any more to fire, and while each was scolding his neighbor for missing him, out dashed another fox and it bounded away without a shot being fired, all the guns being empty. All guns were muzzle loaders.

I could not stand to see that fox get away without an effort and started to pull off my boots. I had gotten one off when I saw that the fox was getting too much of a start, so I started with one boot on and my gun, but after chasing a ways found that I was not gaining, and so gave up the chase. When I returned my companions threatened to court martial me, because it had been agreed that if the fox escaped the guns he was to go free.

We had been between three and four days on the road since we had seen a fence or a house of any kind; now off to our left we saw a cabin. Finally we decided that it had been a surveyors cabin, made by cutting sod and piling it up like stone. I think that it was the next morning after passing the surveyors cabin that we saw another cabin nearly on our route, and we made for it. The man’s name was Boone. He was a relative of Daniel Boone of Kentucky fame. He had a dim road that led us to DesMoines that we were glad to follow.

I think that there was nothing else worth mentioning until we got to our destination . The first thing that we wanted to do was to get to the Land Office, and learn how we were to proceed to get our land. Most of us were poor men and if we should lose our land we would be ruined. Therefore we were generally around the Land Office waiting for a chance to see the commissioner, at a time when he would have time to talk to us. There were about one hundred and fifty settlers from all parts of the land district, all upon the same errand as ourselves. We were there a week or more and had a pretty lively time

A day of two before the Land Sale, I was in the Registrar’s office and he asked me if I would like to write a little for him. I told him that I was too poor a scribe, but he said it was copying and seemed to think that I could do it. I wondered what made him think that I might be able to write. He said that he was too nervous to write with so much depending upon him, now so near the sale. I said that I would be glad to help him, and he invited me inside and gave me some forms to copy. This I though I did as well as the other man.

The Registrar, agreed to address the settlers before the Sale and of course all were anxious to hear what he would have to say. He opened by saying that we would all get our land. That his office would not hold all of us but that two from each township, a bidder and an assistant would make out the applications for the land. That the rest could go guard the windows and if any speculator bid for any of our land, "Well the DesMoines River was not far away." As much as to say that if they did, dunk him in the river.

Well after the sale we turned our faces towards home, but felt that we should not try to return over the rough country that we came over, but would prefer to return by way of Cedar Falls, although it was about fifty miles farther. But we would have a traveled road for most of the way instead of just going across country.

Near Cedar Falls, we met a neighbor who said that our little Marion was very sick. I was much alarmed at this and only stopped to let the teams eat until we got home. The little fellow was very sick and was having Spasms; I watched him have one and felt that worms were the trouble. I had a small medicine chest, but the only thing in it that would destroy worms was calomel. That is a very strong medicine for a child, but I was too far from a doctor or a drug store to get anything more suitable.

Therefore I gave him a dose and stood by until it operated and he soon appeared to be much better. I do not think that my wife was ever better pleased to see me than she was that day. She and a neighbor, Mrs. Joe Henry, were worn out with watching and caring for the child, as they feared that every spasm might be his last, and both were weeping to see him suffer so much. However, the boy was apparently well the next day.

A NEIGHBOR’S DILEMMA

We had commenced to get things going again, that had largely been left to themselves, for three or four weeks, when we were startled to hear that Uncle Billy Wagoner did not have the papers for all of the land for which he had sent the money. Eighty Acres of valuable timber land was lacking. The rest who had sent money and their numbers of their claims were alright. It is a problem that we have never been able to solve, as to just how this could have happened.

Just one thing had to be done quickly, hurry to the land office and enter that eighty acres of land. It was worth money and it would soon be entered, if in deed it had not already been entered, bought up by some one just as a speculation, as many had done. The neighbors had no money to lend. I had a yoke of oxen, my only plow team. They were the best team for plowing that I ever owned; they would keep right up with a horse team and when they were not working, all that was necessary was to let them run out and they would get their own feed and water. And for them I needed not harness, except a yoke and chain.

A neighbor who had watched them work, wanted them badly enough to offer me one hundred and fifty dollars in gold. This I had refused at the time, but now I went to him and told him that if his offer was still good, that under these peculiar circumstances I would now sell them. He said alright and gave me the money. I was ready to start for the land office. C. W. Tenny accompanied me and we lost no time on the way. When we arrived, we found the land still vacant, and immediately entered the land in Uncle Billy’s name. Now I felt better. I had saved his land for him, even if it had been done at considerable sacrifice.

The officers at the land office had found fifty dollars of the missing money, and had kept it. The rest was never found. They gave me this money and I entered forty acres of prairie land with it. In the end I lost nothing as the land brought more than the price of the oxen.

When I started for the land office, the neighbors said that they would make the money up to me. They felt that all who made the original trip were equally responsible, but I never received more than about half of it. The others would have paid if they could but in those days money was very scarce and hard to come-by. I have always felt pretty good that I did carry this through, and I think that Uncle Billy felt pretty good too, when I handed him the papers that called for the patent to his land.

Now I was again at home and could enjoy the comfort of my little family, as I certainly could not have done, with this neighbors misfortune on my mind as if I might be partly to blame for it. I did not handle the money. I do not believe that I ever saw it, but I was along when it was lost.

FINISHING THE CABIN

When we first reached Rock Grove in April of 1853, I bought a claim of about sixty acres of timber land. (NOTE: L. A. Hunt- These first claims before the land sale were called "Squatter Claims.") Forty of which I bought in the fall of 1854 and furnished the money to enter the other twenty acres, besides entering the other eighty acres of Prairie land.

We built our cabin in the timber, near a spring, about twenty rods nearly northwest of where Anthony Overacher then lived. The cabin was sixteen feet square, and one story high, and made of basswood logs, and covered with shakes that were held in place by weight poles. (Not nailed). Only a few months after it was built Indian scares made it necessary to take in two families for a few weeks. During this time we added a kitchen that was about half as large as the main house. Of course we were rather crowded with so many in such a small space but we thought that in case of an Indian attack we would not want to spare one of our number.

It was not until after the land sale that we could take the time to finish the interior. Just walls and a roof were such a comfort. Our furniture consisted of three bedsteads, one cupboard, one table, about a half dozen stools, and one clock. The bedsteads were made by boring a two inch hole with an auger, in one of the logs in the wall of the cabin, a little over six feet from the corner of the room. Then another auger hole of the same size about four and one-half feet from the corner on the other wall. Next we got two fair sized poles and trimmed the ends down to drive into the two inch auger holes. One post would support the single exposed corner, and this post was also bored with two, two inch auger holes, to receive the poles. Next we used a three quarter- inch auger and bored holes about six inches apart in the logs in the wall. In these holes we set pins pointing as nearly vertical as possible and drove in pegs about two inches long. Then in the outside poles we also bored holes the same size and the same distance apart, but these holes were to be nearly horizontal. Now we got the bed cord, rope about three eights of an inch in size and threaded the bed both ways. If we did not have enough bed cord we used thin wood slats for a part.

Next we got a good supply of rushes or prairie grass, the more the better; next came the bed; now if when night came you had done a hard days work, you could get a good night’s rest.

The cupboard came next. Strong pins were driven into the wall in holes made for the purpose, and in a convenient place to receive a large box, large enough to be the cupboard. Into this box shelves of the right length, and of such material as could be found were found or improvised. Now a cloth hung from the top served for a door and your cupboard was complete.

Now we come to the table. The top was made of basswood boards hewed with a broad ax to approximately one inch in thickness. These were then nailed to cross pieces heavy enough to be bored with a fairly large auger for holes to receive the legs. The top was then finished with a plane so as to be reasonably smooth. Such a table was good enough to eat fat venison, or other new country delicacies from, and if covered with a suitable cloth, would in an emergency serve to eat mince pie from.

The chairs and stools were made by sawing a log not over sixteen inches in diameter into short lengths, and splitting it in halves. Now you bored substantial holes, three of them in the round side to receive the legs; three would sit solid on the floor even if the floor was not too smooth. The top side could if you were inclined to be particular, be smoothed with a broad ax. It was always advisable to choose soft wood for the chair bottoms, as since they had no backs, were likely to get pretty hard after a few years. Benches were made in the same way except that the log was left longer and generally four legs were used instead of three.

Our cabin had a rough stone fireplace, but it was a good one and many a nice piece of venison was barbecued there.

The first sermon preached in the west end of Floyd County was listened to in our house, by some fifteen to twenty people seated upon the kind of seats that I have described, and upon logs dragged in from outside and covered with bed quilts.

Uncle Hiram Wilfong, had been a settler at Rock Grove for all of two weeks when we came. He was an excellent workman in either wood, iron or stone. When we arrived he had his house almost ready for the "raising." I later engaged him to help finish our house.

There are always so many things to be done in a new country, that one hardly knows what to do first. There must be a house; then there is the garden to be made and fenced; some land must be cleared and made ready for crops in the next spring.

We were a long way from the corner grocery. Our supplies must be hauled from Auburn, sixty miles away, and over roads already described. Our mail must come from the nearest post office, abut thirty miles away, at Bradford, in Chickasaw County. Ten to twelve of us settlers took turns going for the mail. Meat was usually available by hunting. There were berries in the woods in season. And in the fall of the year, a good supply of nuts helped pass the long winter evenings. They could be had for the gathering.

A WILDERNESS JOURNEY

When we first came to Floyd County in Iowa, it was as beautiful a country to look at in the summer and fall as any that the Creator made in any of the six days, but there are always a few men, that no matter how lovely the landscape where they are, are always looking to see if maybe, on the eight day, after He had rested, He had not made something just a little better. They always want to see something that other men may not have seen.

I want to tell you something to the experience that such wild visionary men had in the Spring of 1854, before the land sale. While on a trip from Rock Grove in Floyd County, to Spirit Lake in Dickenson County. There names were: Anthony Overacher, William J. Argabrite, and John Hunt.

We always wondered just what kind of a country lay west of Clear Lake in Cerro Gordo County. One day an old trapper came along who claimed that he had been all over the west as far as the Rocky Mountains, and among other places he told us of a beautiful stream, the outlet of Spirit Lake. In this stream there was a beautiful waterfall about twenty feet high, that poured from a solid rock ledge. This spot was surrounded by a wonderful fertile country.

Now this seemed to be just the kind of a place we were looking for. What a wonderful place for a mill and a town. Now if we could only get there first.

In a very few days the three of us were ready, with two wagons, two yoke of oxen, a span of mules, and a lot of other necessary paraphernalia, consisting of, among other things, a plow, a hoe, an ax, seed corn, a saw, auger, etc., as well as guns and provisions. If we found the country like we expected, we planned to build a cabin or two, plant a garden, and break the ground and plant a little corn. Our hopes were quite high built upon the foundation of a trappers fireside story.

We camped the first night at Mr. Hewitt’s place, near Clear Lake. He came down to our camp to see just what two covered wagons headed still farther west really meant, as we were now about to the end of any road as at this time there was no settlement west of Clear Lake. He advised us not to go on as we were likely to have trouble with the Indians. Before we got back we often wished that we had taken his advice. But we wanted to see the land no other settler had seen, besides there was a different kind of game out there and we meant to see what that was like, and all the other possible wonders of a new and unexplored country.

And so with only a very inaccurate map, and a compass, we left civilization behind, and took a westerly course for Kossuth County where we struck the Des Moines River. There had been a heavy rain and the river was running bank full. We went up stream a little above the forks of the River, where we made a raft of dry logs and ferried our wagons across.

Then we swam the oxen over. They were not much trouble. Now only the mules were left. We were a little uneasy about them as the water was not only deep but swift, and mules are not much at home in water. There seemed to be no other way so we decided to try it. I mounted one and leading the other plunged into swimming water right at the start, as the banks were very near perpendicular.

The mule I was on sank entirely under water as soon as it left the bank, and came up several feet below, and then swam across to the wagons. His mate made a bee line down stream toward a drift in the middle of the river. By this time I was again out on the bank from which I had started.

The mule finally lodged against the drift and seemed to be held there. I attempted to swim out to the drift but my clothes were so heavy that I was carried by the current, past and below the drift. I turned around and swam back to the shore from which I had started and this time I went farther up the stream and this time I managed to catch the drift. Then I managed to pull the mule loose from the drift, and this time it swam over to the opposite bank where the wagons and the rest of the stock were. But it was so tired that it had to be helped out of the water. I was the last to cross over and when I had wrung out my clothes and they had dried a little I felt about as good as new.

We decided to camp and let the mules rest and also to try and obtain some meat as we could see a good deal of game sign. The next morning I killed three elk. We dressed them and cured the meat over a slow fire, after it had been salted. We used up two days at this and then were ready to proceed. Here was a fine body of timber and the land appeared good. When we returned about two weeks later, we staked out some claims here. The land was as yet unsurveyed but we blazed lines through the trees, and set stakes, but we never returned to these claims as we finally considered that this land was no better than the land around Rock Grove.

Now we were all supplied with meat and the third day saw us again headed westward. We passed some beautiful lakes and some of them we could see had a good many fish in them. Generally it appeared that there was a border of trees at least part way around these lakes.

Game seemed plentiful and occasionally an elk would suddenly rise from his hiding place, and dash away in that sweeping trot for which they are noted. He would turn his head first to one side and then to the other apparently trying to get a better look at us, and soon be out of sight. Occasionally one would stop on some far off knoll and feeling safe would turn and watch us for a while. It was a wonderful country and not a settler in many many miles.

The day before we reached Spirit Lake, we saw nine old buffalo and one calf. As we had plenty of meat we should not have disturbed them, but the temptation was too much for Mr. Overacher, so when we were within perhaps fifty yards of them, our covered wagons meant nothing to them, and they would not have run off as we came up, he shot at the bunch, but if any animal was hit, it gave no sign and they all ambled away but in no great hurry. There were new things to see continually, which kept us all on the watch lest we should miss some of them.

As we came in sight of Spirit Lake we found the land to be more rolling, and almost the first sight that caught our eyes was a heavy cloud of smoke. Of course we knew that this meant Indians were burning off the old grass so that game could better get at the new grass. It was not long before we saw a lot of them a long way off and to the left of our route. They soon disappeared when they saw our covered wagons, but soon three of them appeared about a mile away and coming toward us at a gallop.

We stopped and laid our guns in the front of the wagons so that if need be we could instantly reach them, but we did not want to show any sign of hostility. While the three Indians on horse-back were riding towards us we noticed about twenty Indians on foot going as if to head us off, a little farther along.

The situation began to look a little suspicious. I told the boys that we would be friendly just as long as possible if they would let us be, but if worst came to worst and we must fight, we would make it cost them as dearly as possible. Up until that time I had never though that I could kill anyone under any circumstances but when you are faced with a choice of either to kill or be killed it does not take you long to make up your mind.

We had not long to wait. The three of them came up at full speed but what made my hair stand on end, was that when they were about fifty paces of us they cocked their guns; ( I suppose to be prepared if we showed fight.) The Indians that were on foot stopped about a half mile away. We could see a part of their bodies and their gun-barrels glistening in the sun. It all made a picture that I shall not soon forget.

The horses of the three riders did not check speed until within about twenty feet of us; then the riders dismounted. I now stepped forward, leaving my gun, and shook hands with each of them and my companions came and did the same thing. It was one of the most trying moments that I have ever experienced. We did not dare show fear, and yet to leave your only weapon behind and walk up and shake hands with a possible enemy, who has his rifle cocked and in his left hand is not just exactly what I enjoyed.

My first though was of those we had left at home. If we stopped to do the work that we had contemplated when we left home, they would not be expecting us for at least a couple of months. If we should be killed so far away, the friends at home would never know what had become of us, for it would be next to impossible to follow our tracks by the time we would be missed at home. Yes, right at that moment I would have given a quick claim deed to all the land in sight of us, just to suddenly be removed back to Rock Grove and to my little cabin. And I guess that I thought that John M. Hunt must surely have a soft spot in his head, but little less than a peck measure, to have ever started upon such a wild goose chase, in the first place; but we were there, not in Rock Grove, and the situation had to be dealt with.

I went back to the wagon and got some meat and bread, and gave some to each of the three Indians, who were now squatted on the ground near their guns. They would not try to talk English although they talked among themselves in a language unknown to any of us. Then one of them got up and pointing to the meat, seemed to ask where we had killed the meat? I took a stick and pointing back towards the Des Moines River, drew a rough map of the forks of the River and set the stake where we had killed the elk near the River. He seemed to understand.

When they were through eating, Mr. Overacher gave one of them a plug of tobacco. The Indian drew out his butcher knife from his belt, and began to prepare some to smoke, and I was surprised to see him pull his tomahawk from his belt and commence loading the tobacco into the back of it, for it was hollow, then he lit a match and inserted the handle into his mouth, and applying the match to his mouth sent large streams of smoke through his nostrils.

After taking several puffs himself, he handed it to each of the others, who each went through the same performance several times, but they did not offer it to either of us, which we knew to be an unfriendly gesture.

It was now near the middle of the afternoon, and as we stood looking over to where the other Indians were watching us, we began to feel anxious to select a suitable campsite. We were convinced that if they intended to harm us they would do it that night.

I went back to the wagon and got some corn and a hoe and dropping some of the corn on the ground, covered it with dirt with the hoe, to show them what we wanted to do.

When I had finished, the one who seemed to be the chief, took the hoe and some corn and went through the same motions of planting and said "Me Minnesota"; as much as to say that he had planted corn in Minnesota. They were the finest specimens of Indians that I had ever seen; large, well proportioned, and brave looking men.

We felt that we could wait no longer and by signs and motions and pointing towards the sun, now getting low and fixing a camp fire, and letting our oxen and mules graze, showed them that we must go. They assented by a nod.

We got into our wagons and drove off. I looked back several times and they were still sitting there as long as I could see them. As we were now far enough away, we talked over the situation, and were quite uneasy. We knew that we were in their power; there were only three of us and more than twenty of them. Besides they could easily conceal themselves and easily shoot us without giving us any chance to do them any damage.

As soon as we found a suitable place to camp, we turned our animals out to graze and got our supper early. Then before it was dark, we had our teams tied to the wagons, and our dog tied to the wagon in which we planned to sleep. I think that I have not spoken of this dog before, as up until now we had not realized that he might be of any particular use to us.

At dusk we took our rifles and lay down in the wagon; Overacher and Argabrite at one end and I at the other; but it was not to sleep but to watch. Everything was quiet until about ten o’clock P.M. when the dog suddenly sprang out as if there was something very close of which he was afraid.

We could not see a thing as it was quite dark. The ears on the mules were pointing in the same direction as the dog was looking. He kept up his barking much of the night. What he saw we never knew; it could have been a wolf or some other animal, or of course it might have been Indians. If it was the later, then they must have concluded that, as they were not able to take us by surprise and had seen our rifles only a few hours before, some of them might get hurt if they attempted to lift our scalps in the dark.

I believe that the Indians really intended to kill us that night but that the dog spoiled their surprised party just a little too soon for them. As it began to get light I got over my fears in a measure and took a little nap. As soon as it was light we turned our stock out to feed, and ate our breakfast after spending a very uneasy night.

About nine o’clock we left our camp, intending to go a few miles farther west as so far we had seen nothing that in any way answered the description that the old trapper had given us, although all the country showed that it would be excellent for farming.

A few miles farther on we saw some more Indians burning grass. One of them left the others, and came to meet us a few miles farther on. When he stopped near us, I left the wagons and armed with some bread and meat, went to meet him hoping that he would be able to tell us about the country. As I came up he cocked his gun, which I did not like, as I was unarmed, but I shook hands with him, but soon found that he would not talk English, if indeed he could. He kept his gunlock under his arm so that I could not see that it was cocked, while I tried to talk to him. I could make no headway with him, by any means of communication that I could invent. He definitely did not want to be friendly. So finally I returned to the wagons.

LIFE IN FLOYD COUNTY AND OTHER INCIDENTS

When we settled at Rock Grove I saw little prospect of ever having a Baptist Church near us, but within two years my wife and I assisted in the organization of a Baptist Church in Rock Grove. And while, when I first came to Iowa never expected to live long enough to see all the land taken up, yet withing those same two years there was scarcely a vacant forty of land to be found in Floyd County.

Brother William and Brother James made us a visit in the fall of 1853, very shortly after we got settled in our new house. I had a large elk skin staked down in our yard when then came. After a good visit Brother William returned to Rolling Prairie, but Brother James stayed on into the fall.

Along in October, Brother James and I made a trip up the Shellrock River, as far as Lake Albert. There was no road and we just took a generally northwest course across the country. We crossed Elk Creek near the main timber grove between Lime Creek and the Shellrock River. After traveling an hour or two without finding the Lake, James climbed a tall tree from which he could see the Lake. We were soon camped there for the night. Our camp was near an old "bee tree," that we believed the Indians had cut a long time ago. There were lots of ducks and wild geese and a few swans scattered over the lake. I shot one goose for camp meat, and at the sound of my gun, such a cloud of birds arose that they made a sound like distant thunder.

We saw some elk tracks around the lower end of the lake, where the Shellrock River leaves the lake, the next morning. And on our second night, not long after dark, the timber wolves began to howl and made plenty of music all through the night.

On our way home I killed a yearling elk, that had spike horns about a foot long. We also got some very fat geese; I remember that from one of them I got nearly a pint of fat, just off the entrails..

We took our elk to McGregors landing and sold the meat for six cents a pound. Then we bought potatoes, on our way home, for twelve cents a bushel. Then we got them pretty badly frozen on our way home. While crossing the wide prairie between Charles City and Flood Creek, we counted about thirty deer in on drove, but they kept well out of reach of our rifles.

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The first Fourth of July we spent in Iowa, we celebrated by, my wife picking a large pailful of large red raspberries, and I by killing a four prong buck deer. It this could not be considered very patriotic, they were each very ornamental for the table.

INDIANS

About the last of June or the first of July, in 1854, Peter Clymer came from Clear Lake, in Cerro Gordo County, and reported that the few settlers there were alarmed at the large number of Sioux Indians, who had already killed a son of Little Otter, (NOTE: L. A. Hunt - A chief of the Winneobago Tribe, who had been friendly to the whites; this the Sioux felt was being a traitor to the Indians.) This Little Otter, had lived near the white Hewitts family and settlers feared it was their intentions to either drive out or kill all the whites and they wanted help immediately.

There were perhaps, a dozen families living north of Beeler’s Grove on the Shellrock River and they would not be able to defend themselves against any very large body of Indians, but we got together as soon as possible, and decided to send a man to the larger settlements along Cedar River for help.

About ten o’clock P.M. W. P. Gaylord and myself started with only one revolver between us, across the prairie between Rock Grove and Charles City, which at that time consisted of one log store and perhaps a half dozen other cabins. It was daylight when we called up the citizens of Charles City. Here Mr. Gaylord complained of not feeling well and I left him there and proceeded to all that I could see as far down as Bradford. There I got breakfast and fed my mule, with Andrew Sample, the Sheriff of Chickasaw County.

He immediately got together what men he could and started for Clear Lake. I did not wait for company but started for home alone. When nearly half way back I met two families with their cows, hurrying away about as fast as they could. With as few words as possible they told me that they supposed that the families at Rock Grove had all been killed, as they had sent some men over there that day, and that they had not returned, and that they had