Journal
Nov. 4, 1915
(same)
It is not
more than fifty years since the wedding at “Woodland Home”, Ogle county,
Illinois
, and as I was
the only newspaper reporter present, it has never before been reported. The bride was well dressed in a brown
broadcloth traveling suit. The groom
wore $16 boots and the conventional black that cost the beg end of a $100
greenback, and was so badly frightened that the lavender kids were
forgotten.
The dinner
was great and well prepared, consisting of turkey – and all the other “fixings”
that usually make a farmer’s feast and makes the table groan. If the “table groaned” we did not notice it,
but the parson, the hired man and the boys did. It was not served in “courses,” but anybody and everybody were told to
try the 19 or 20 kinds of food as well as several kinds of drinks. After dinner father and I went to the barn to
prepare for the wedding trip to
Missouri
. Father said: “John, I am not able to fit you and Mary out as I would like to do, but
if you will get a bed tick you can fill it with the finest oats straw you ever
saw.” I did not get the tick but carried
several arm loads to the sled.
While we
were engaged at the barn the boys and the hired man had filled the sled box
with several large dry goods boxes, trunks and hand-baggage. Before the clock struck two we bade the
company good bye, and there was no throwing of rice, old shoes, beans or
cabbage as we sailed across the frosty fields for Polo, ten miles away.
At the
station the boxes were shipped as freight to
St. Joseph
,
Mo.
,
and the baggage checked for
Quincy
,
Ill.
, Dr. Allen, an old friend of
Father Burnett, intercepted the party as I was buying tickets and said we could
go no further until we had supped at his home, and we did.
It was
eight o’clock
the following morning
when we arrived at
Quincy
. The river was breaking up, and no ferries
were running, and it was necessary to walk across the ice, paying toll whenever
there was a rift in the ice. At
noon
we had reached
Palmyra
and were greeted by two or three
brass bands and several thousand of the colored population of
Missouri
, who had received their freedom the
11th of January by proclamation of the Provisional Governor of the
state of
Missouri
.
The
conductor informed the passengers that they could dine at
Palmyra
and have at least an hour for the
performance. My wife, yes, my wife, had
made the acquaintance of a real old lady who was opening up a lunch basket
intending to eat a cold dinner, and the new Mrs. Dopf asked her to dine with
us, and she did, also repeated at every eating house between Palmyra and St.
Joseph, and as it took more than 36 hours to cross the state, feeding the old
lady was a joke on my shrunken pocketbook. Two days were spent in
St.
Joseph
, and we visited Uhlman’s photograph gallery and
had our first pictures taken as wife and husband, and it showed the head of the
house seated and the mistress standing at his side, with her hand on his
shoulder. If you could see the picture
today, you would never guess that the two had been married less than a
week.
Early on
the morning of the third day I met “Rock” Frost, manager of the stage company,
and asked him to place the names of myself and wife on the waybill to
Rock
Port
,
and I would pay Dan Snyder on arrival at home. This he refused to do, and gave as a reason that the writeup of the
company two months before out to be sufficient reason why he should not grant
my request. I told him that I could
engage an ox cart and a good driver who would land me in advance of his
crippled horses, and that myself and wife would not have to walk up the steep
hills along the way. After some emphatic
remarks on both sides, “Rock” said: “I
will do this: I have two old men, two
old women and yourself and wife more than the coaches will carry; all are
billed for Rock Port, and I will send you _________ by daylight, stopping over
at Forest City over night, and the company will charge nothing, but you will
have to wait two or three hours before you can start.” Of course I could not refuse so liberal an
offer, as it represented more than $20, the best pay I ever received for a
local writeup – about one dollar per line. “It pays to advertise!”
One of the
old ladies was the same woman who took warm meals with us along the H. &
St. Joe R.R., and had been visiting friends in
St. Joseph
. One of the old men was Col. Jim Carnes, of
Ohio
, and the other two a preacher and his
aged wife from Beaver,
Pa.
,
who owned lands in
Atchison
county.
The weather
was fine and the roads dry and dusty; the horses were fresh and frisky; the
drivers were dry and thirsty, and sometimes crusty when the bottles were empty,
and they cursed and swore and ripped and roared when the beer gave out.
Forest
City
was our place for supper, and the old lady took another warm meal at our
expense, and our pocketbook grew thinner. After supper the old lady attempted to return to the parlor, and in
doing so, to avoid passing a window for the parlor door, walked into an open
cistern with two or three feet of water at the bottom. Her cries for “Help!” soon attracted
attention, and she was quickly saved from a wet burial, carried to the kitchen,
and removing her wet clothing over $1,500 was found in her stockings.
The day
following we proceeded on our journey and took our Sunday dinner at
Milton
, at the home of
Wm. Graves, and it was a good one, too. His son, John Graves, who lives at or near
Fairfax
, can tell all the facts, especially
about his admiration of the bride.
About
4 o’clock p.m.
we arrived at
Rock
Port
and were welcomed at the home of Dan and Mrs. Snyder. Snyder fed the stage passengers at a long
one-story frame building on
Water
street
, but kept no lodgers. His wife had the reputation of being the best
book between
St. Joseph
and
Council Bluffs
. He charged half a dollar for all anyone could
eat, and I am sure he lost money often, and was only saved from bankruptcy by
his patrons who had moderate appetites. However meats and vegetables were cheap.
There had
been another wedding at
Rock
Port
recently and a
charivari was expected, and I had saved enough to meet the necessary expense of
the affair. The other bride and groom
were not far away and about
9 o’clock
Capt. Walkup (it was not Co. Riley) called the roll of his company, which was
composed of every able bodied citizen not present. Mr. Snyder put on his coat and hat, took Navy
revolver from his desk and went out at the front door. Bileveaux followed with a two gallon jug,
contents unknown. Dan returned in a few
minutes, put away his gun and remarked: “There will be no disturbance in this neighborhood tonight,” and there
was none. I believe the other couple was
Uncle John and Aunt Hannah Wright. If
they are not guilty, they cannot prove their innocence.
J.C.C.
Journal
Nov. 11, 1915
(Same)
I wish you
could place a half-tone of some other of the old timers of
Rock
Port
at the front of this chapter. If I were
permitted to name the man I would suggest Dr. Cunningham, as I shall devote a
part of this article to what he did for
Rock
Port
and
Atchison
county besides prescribing quinine, whiskey, calomel, castor oil and poke
root. He called at our sanctum early one
morning, following a day spent in riding over the almost impassable roads, and
said: “Mr. Dopf, I observe that the
murky substance in our soil, permeated with water, adheres to the wheels of
the vehicles with such tenacity that it is with the greatest difficulty that
the quadrupeds can propel the vehicle along, through and across our
thoroughfares.” I replied that he was
doubtless correct, but there was no dictionary in the office. This was the last effort the Doctor made to
overwhelm us with his extensive vocabulary.
Later on he
came to the office on Saturday evening and was greeted by a dozen or more of
the leading citizens of the town. He
wanted to know why there was no Sunday school in town, and many amusing reasons
were given, and many food reasons, as well. However, the crowd agreed that if a man could be found to do the praying
the
Rock
Port
Sunday school would organize next
day at
2 o’clock p.m.
Esquire William Sparks agreed to officiate as
chaplain; Dr. Cunningham was elected superintendent; this scribe, secretary,
J.W. Smith, treasurer, and E.L. Clark, librarian. In those days there was no lesson helps but
there was real bible study. There was
much memorizing, and many pupils could repeat the four gospels of Mathew, Mark,
Luke and John, as well as the Psalms of David and Proverbs. There was as many classes at this first
meeting as there were bibles. The
session, aside from business, was a short one and closed by singing: “I want to be an Angel and with the Angels
stand!”
On the way
down town a wicked boy expressed an opinion that “no decent Angel would stand
with such a crowd, and that such singing would scare the devil!”
There was
at this time one other Sunday school in the county and that was at
Sonora
. There may have been others but there were
home affairs and kept no records.
“Tall oaks
from little acorns grow!”
Likewise
great growth has been made in this field of endeavor, and greater are still to
be made in the future, and it needs no prophet to foretell that this will be
when creeds have crumbled to dust and love of God and Man have taken their place
and the nations of the earth shall sing the song the shepherds heard on the
plains of Bethlehem.
Rev. Calvin
Allen was the first preacher to visit The Journal. His Circuit covered the larger part of the
Platte Purchase, and he rode at the risk of his life. He carried a pocket bible and a Colt’s Navy,
and at some places the bible and the navy lay side by side on the pulpit. He was a man of courage and good of purpose. There are a few men still living in
Rock
Port
who will remember him perhaps better than I do. A year ago he was living at
LaClede
,
Mo.
, preaching for the Methodist
Episcopal church.
Sunday
school picnics were not of frequent occurrence during the Civil War period and
it will be a good guess to say there were none from 1850 to 1865.
Perhaps it
was in the fall of 1864 that Gen. Clinton B. Fisk, commanding the several
military posts in
Missouri
,
Kansas
and
Nebraska
, with a company
of Black Horse Cavalry as his body guard, left
St. Louis
on a tour of inspection of the
various posts along the
Missouri river
from
St. Louis to Omaha, and incidentally to look up the Sunday schools along the
wayside. Ample notice of his coming
preceded him, and the Rock Port Sabbath school gave notice that there would be
a picnic at the Milsap grove, near the present site of the school house, north
and west of the Dug Cut road, and invited everybody to come and bring enough
good “eats” with them to feed Gen. Fisk, his army and the horses and anybody
else who might be hungry. The notice
brought an immense crowd of people. The
came from
Iowa
,
Missouri
and
Nebraska
, and there was
a great abundance to feed both man and beast. Many soldiers had just come home from the army and they came and brought
their sweethearts or their wives of recent date. There was a band or two, and there was music
in the air. The bands played, the
children sang and the bugler showed his skill by blowing the calls that were at
that day so familiar that the school children could whistle them when they were
playing soldier.
Gen. Fisk
was introduced to the people by Capt. Steck, who was officer of the day, and he
made no bad mistake when he said he was the best Sunday school man in the
world, for I think the introduction caused the General to do his best to make
the people believe that Steck had told the truth.
The dinner
followed and it took about two hours to eat that dinner. The people ate half an hour and rested and
then went at it again, and so continued until there was nothing left to be
wasted. Nobody went away hungry anyhow.
Capt. Steck
then announced that there would be a “balloon sensation!” and the people would
have to leave the grove the better to observe this wonderful spectacle. A German shoemaker by the name of Schultz,
father of Mox Schultz, had prepared a very large paper balloon and several
small ones, and they were to be sent up immediately. The big balloon, eight or ten feet in
diameter, was filled with hot air, and to the lower end was attached a large
bunch of cotton, saturated with alcohol, which was lighted as the balloon left
the earth. The balloon arose in majesty
and acted all right until it struck a stiff breeze blowing over the bluffs,
when it went over on its side, caught fire and came to the ground in the
thickest of the crowd – and it was the first balloon “sensation” of
Atchison
county.
J.D.D.
Journal
Nov. 18, 1915
(Same)
Col. James
Carnes was Colonel of the 105th Ohio Volunteer Infantry, and we
listened to many interesting stories concerning the “unpleasantness with our
Southern relatives,” and he seemed to have only seen the humorous side of the
conflict. We were but a few miles out of
St. Joseph when it was discovered that beneath the rough exterior of the old
war veteran there was a genial, courtly gentleman of culture and commanding
ability, and he found the whole party attentive listeners, and the drive,
“Happy Jack” drove quietly as possible over the rough places so he could
listen, too. Although we were almost two
days on the road or at the Wayside Inns, the Colonel continued as the principal
entertainer.
The morning
following our arrival at
Rock
Port
, Mr. Carnes
disappeared and nothing was seen or heard of him for at least two weeks, and
then he came to meet his wife and daughter. He told me that he had purchased lands near the
Missouri
river
, in the Buckham neighborhood, a mile or two west and north
of what is now Langdon, and was building thereon a hewn log house. He wanted the lands surveyed as soon as
possible, so he could fence it, and said he intended to live there for the
remainder of his life. He also wanted to know where he could get lime with
which to “daub the chinking” between the logs. I told him he had better not introduce such an innovation lest he be
classed with the F.F.V.s, as the old settlers of that neighborhood were the
Blue Grass region of
Kentucky
. He was ready to take chances, as his wife
might demand something even better than the house he was building.
When I went
to survey the land, a month later, I found the house occupied and well
furnished and the wife and daughter were well pleased with the new home and its
surroundings. They were people of
culture and I greatly enjoyed the days I worked at “
Cottonwood
Mansion
.”
Eighteen
hundred and sixty-five was the year of the invasion of the lightning-rod
peddler as well as that of the sewing machine agent, and of course he could
scent a new house long before it came to view. Mrs. Carnes insisted on having the “Mansion” properly rodded. Mr. Carnes protested to no purpose, for no
Colonel with a regiment at his back could withstand the charge of a vendor of
lightning rods when backed by an intelligent woman, and the vendor go a good
dinner and a contract to rod the house at 50 cents per foot and $1 per
point. The rods were put down to water,
at least ten feet, and extended a like distance above the highest peak of the
roof. The bill was more than $30, and
everybody was happy when the Colonel paid the bill and the vendor drove
away. In due course of time, by reason
of contraction and expansion, caused by cold and heat, the rod parted and the
lower section fell to the ground, so that it became a menace instead of a
protection. An approaching storm brought
the Colonel from the harvest-field to the house. Mrs. Carnes at once asked him t6o repair the
break as soon as possible, as the roar of distant thunder indicated that a
violent electric storm was rapidly approaching. The Colonel protested: Mrs.
Carnes insisted and hastily procured a leader and bade him ascend, and he
did. With one hand he carried the
ground-end of the rod and ascended the ladder, then, reaching upward he grasped
the upper rod. When he thus closed the
circuit, he received a “shock” so violent that he was thrown to the ground, and
he at once became confident that a metallic conductor on his home was a
decidedly good thing, if it had no breaks in it. Mrs. Carnes came to his assistance with a
pair of heavy leather gloves and the rod was properly adjusted before the storm
broke in fury. A number of tall
cottonwood trees were felled by the lightning within a short distance of the
house, and what might have happened at the house had not the rods been properly
connected, is too terrible to think about.
Col. Carnes
was elected Presiding Judge of the County Court in 1866 or 1867 and made a most
excellent public servant. There were in
those days few public roads and bridges were few and far between the hose that
were in use were of poor construction and dangerous as well.
One bridge
spanned the Nishnabotna river. It was
situated at Sam King’s distillery and only a few feet from the present site of
the Colvin bridge. It was neither a Howe
Trus. nor a Cantilever. It was built in
three or four sections, “toggled” together with log-chains and trace-chains,
and the whole structure rest5ed on cribs built of large logs on each bank of
the river. It might have been called a
suspension bridge. It had a lateral
swing of three to five feet in the center, and it went up and down according to
the load it carried. That bridge was
certainly “fearfully and wonderfully made”, and the builder’s name was unknown
and his descendents should be glad of it. He was perhaps an old bachelor. The old thing looked just like one of those poor unfortunates.
The “Ishna”
as it was called by Bennett King, and the “Nishna” by other old timers, was
crossed by numerous ferries, which paid state and county license, and charged
`0 cents for footmen, 25 cents for hose and rider and 50 cents for a span of
horses or oxen and wagon. If the
passengers were strangers these prices were doubled. These crossing places were near some farm
house, and from the mou5th north were at Frank Groh’s, John D. Campbell’s, E.S.
Needles’, Soloman Hackett’s, Dan Morgan’s, Young Woolsey’s, John Walburn’s and
the Bill Lewis place where the stage line crossed the Nishnabotna river, two
miles southeast of Hamburg.
Bridges
crossing the Big Tarkio were at
Milton
,
at Gilkinson’s, at Fanning’s mill, and northeast of Center Grove, known as the
Bush bridge. There was no bridges on the
Little Tarkio. The Middle and the West
Fork of B9ig Tarkio poured their waters into that stream near “Hunkadora”, and
a number of bridges were necessary in order to get to or away from
Hunkadora. Bridges were so numerous and
so close together that you could not tell whether you were on the east or the
west side of the stream nor what stream you had crossed or were going to
cross. Hunkadora would have been Tarkio
had not the railroad company objected to the building of so many bridges. The Middle Fork was bridged at the
Bartlett
school
house. The west Fork was bridged near
the Graves-Golden-Bennett farm. There
was a bridge on Rock Creek, near the Hunter Cut, and one east of
Linden
, at the Barger
place.
Up to this
time there was little use for bridges. The settlements were mostly on the west side of the county, and the few
settlers on the east side raised cattle and hogs, mules and horses, and did not
want bridges and would not have them. However, land hunters were looking for homes; land was cheap -- $3 to $5
per acre – and the spirit of improvement was abroad and sentiment was
changing.
The
destruction of roads and bridges caused by the storms of the past six months
may appear serious, but is nothing as compared to that which confronted Judge
Carnes and his associates, but they “______ out” just as the present court will
have to do.
J.D.D.
Journal
Nov. 25, 1915
(Same)
PEACE was
declared
April 15, 1865
,
exactly four years aft the firing upon
Ft.
Sumpter, and it will be remembered by the few remaining citizens of Rock Port
who can remember the event that it was a great day that following the
proclamation, for it was not known at Rock Port until about 10 o’clock on the
morning of the 15th that war had ended. Four years of war, with all its horrors, had
not hardened the hearts of the American people. There were tears of joy; there were cheerful greetings by all, and ere
the sun had set perhaps the entire population of the county had heard the glad
tidings. This general rejoicing was not
alone by the victors. Those who favored
the “Lost Cause” generally were found with those who rejoiced. If there were any who felt otherwise they
made no mistake by hiding their feelings. One cheerful old Southern sympathizer, however, declared that “The South
will whip you’ns next time,” and nobody disputed his words.
One week
had hardly passed before the pessimist put in an appearance and he saw “in the
near future great disaster than had visited the land in the four years just
past. The army would disband and the
soldiers would fill t5he country with outlaws, and raping, murder, arson and
robbery would mark their paths from ocean to ocean and from Canada to the Gulf
of Mexico. The national debt would never
be paid, and old England would seize the national capitol and the United States
would become Southern Canada and Old Mexico would annex Texas and the
Southwestern territories,” and if this did not happen one wise old Prophet of
Disaster declared: The Indians will drive what few whites are still living into
the Atlantic ocean or the Gulf of Mexico.”
None of
these things happened. The soldiers came
home. The young men came and married
“The Girl I Left Behind Me!” Those who
had wives when they enlisted or who came back were married before the war
closed and re=enlisted, came home and went to work just as though nothing had
happened. It is a fact that even old
bachelors who had not the courage to ask for a wife before the war came boldly
to the front, picked out the best, proposed, was accepted and married and made
model husbands, too.
Will the
pessimist never die? Will he never get
killed? Can he be killed? He is still with us and is telling how this
nation will suffer after the great Eastern war closes if it ever does.
Capt. Geo.
Steck is a type of many of the Federal soldiers who came from the army with a
thankful heart, little meat on his bones, full of good intentions and empty
pockets, and your readers all know he is a model citizen, and has prospered
financially.
“Coon”
Deatz came back form the Confederate army and walked to the home of Dr. J.Y.
Bird, one mile south of
Rock
Port.
He had a few ragged clothes, twenty-five
cents and perhaps a few graybacks. After
working for Dr. Bird one year he came to
Rock
Port
for the first time in over five years, bought a breaking plow and harness and
went up Rock Creek and commenced breaking prairie by the acre. A year later he bought 160 acres of land and
improved it, and became in later years one of the most prosperous farmers of
Atchison
county. He was a good citizen, too.
Charles
Patton, when discharged from the army, was 21 years old and could neither read
or write. He married and his wife
educated him, with the aid of the school teacher, who boarded at their home. The last known of Patton by this writer he
was running a saw mill for Uncle Sam on an Indian reservation near the
Manitoba
line, and drew
$250 per month.
Good
soldiers make good citizens, good husbands, good fathers. Most soldiers are good. This refers to the volunteer soldier. I do not care to discuss the character of the
soldiers of the regular army. They are
good, bad and indifferent.
I contend
that the American Volunteer Army from Colonial days to date has done more hard
fighting and gained more victories worth while, than all the trained armies of
the world since the walls of Jericho were blown down by the wind from rams’
horns as the Jews marched seven times around the beleaguered city, keeping step
with the crude music (?) they produced.
. . . Selah!
Journal
Dec. 2, 1915
(Same)
Early in
the spring of 1866 or 1867 I went to
St.
Joseph
to look for any stray railroad that felt
inclined to build a line that would pay good dividends from date of running the
first train until the end of time, and I had not met with any discouraging talk
from
St. Joseph
business men. I left
St. Joseph
early in the morning by rail for
Savannah
,
then the terminis of the Platte Country Railroad. The road was at that time owned by the State
of
Missouri
and was built from Weston to
Savannah
. It was not much railroad, but “beat nothing
just a little bit”. A few years later it
was stolen from, sold or given away by the state, and the state made a great
mistake when it disposed of it. At that
time the state was “long” on railroads and “short” on cash.
I was doing
more thinking in those days than talking and gave no attention to the talkers
on the train. A stage coach was waiting
our arrival at
Savannah
and most of the passengers climbed into the coach. I mounted to the seat beside
the driver and we were off in a hurry. We stopped at Fillmore long enough to change the mail and then crossed
the Nodaway river, crossing at a ford just below Hollister’s Mill, and two
miles farther west stopped for dinner. The dinner consisted of fried bacon swimming in a sea of fat, corn
dodgers, black coffee without sugar or cream – price 50 cents. At my side sat a young man who seemed to have
no craving for dinner. Finally he
pointed to the plate of bacon and asked me to name it. I told him to eat thereof and name it himself. He took a small bite, made an effort to
swallow it, but failed, slipped the unpalatable morsel from his mouth to the
side of his plate, arose from the table, paid his bill and left the room. I followed. A few words between us resulted in an introduction and that young man’s
name was A.L. Williams, and I claim him as a friend to date, and one that never
fails.
I told the
driver we would walk on while he hitched up a fresh team and half a dozen other
passengers followed. We were soon out of
sight of the house and further on came to the forks of the road. Williams and I turned to the left. The footmen behind us called our attention to
the fact, as they thought, that we were not going the right road. Half a mile further on we were overtaken by
the “coach and four”. To the driver we
explained that the other passengers had persuaded themselves to take the
righthand fork. After calling loudly
for the “right-handers” the driver remarked: “They can walk to
Jackson
’s
Point and get their supper with us.” We
went by the way of Oregon and Forest City to deliver the mail and thence to
Jackson’s Point (now Mound City) where we took supper and the supper was just a
little better than a duplicate of dinner. The passengers had not reached
Jackson
’s
Point up to the hour of our departure, and never “showed up,” and the good Lord
only knows what became of them, but such was “life in the far West.”
We
proceeded on our journey without incident until we reached the Big Tarkio
valley below
Milton
,
and then our troubles commenced. High
water on that stream had made the crossing almost impossible, but with the aid
of rails, rolls and chunks we finally reached the bridge, which at that time
was almost half a mile south of Milton and at the foot of a very steep hill, up
which we walked and pushed the coach, while the driver whipped and cursed the
horses. John Van Gundy, I think was
postmaster, and he was called out and changed the mail while all hands rested
and returned thanks and then proceeded on our journey, but there were other
mudholes before we reached the hills, and if the road has not been changed,
there are still a few in that neighborhood, but not so deep as the “bottomless
pits” on the roads of long ago.
The
ancients of
Atchison
county and the balance of the
Platte
purchase,
surveyed and marked public highways from one neighborhood to the next point of
importance by the shortest and most direct route, along the best natural
grades, following lines of least resistance, and such was the postal road from
Savannah
to
Council Bluffs
.
About
1 o’clock a.m.
we reached the top of
the hill about two miles from
Milton
and thence to the Vogler Branch, we went merrily along; but the bridge at the
Vogler Branch was gone. Mr. Vogler and
his boys helped us build a crossing and then we learned that the Hughes bridge
had been washed away. The driver decided
that he had heard that Rock Creek could be forded near the Bird place, now
owned by Judge Sizemore. The place found
and the approach was all right. The
horses crossed all right and went up the steep bank but were unable to draw the
loaded coach up the bank and the waters of Rock Creek was washing our feet and
wetting our trowsers. Everybody got out,
climbed over the horses backs, took their grips and walked up town. The driver unhitched the horses, took the way
mailbag from the front “boot” of the coach and followed us to the hotel where
he reported progress to Dan Snyder, the stage agent. It was
four
o’clock
, day was breaking, but no sleep for Williams and I. Williams looked for a job. I had one and went to work. In less than a week Williams was measuring
calico, weighing sugar, coffee and tea early and late for the firm of P.A.
& F.M. Thompson, dealers in general merchandise, groceries, etc. etc. and
making friends with the patrons of the firm. If he had time to spare it was not spent in idleness. He was an adept in practical jokes and there
were victims, many. Later on he met his
Waterloo
, when Al.
Colvin, John Grieve, “Andy” Johnson and A.F. Tiffany organized in self
defense.
Saturday
was then a great day for trade as well as “drunks”, dog-fights, men-fights and
horse-racing. Indoor sports were dancing
and the national game commonly known as “draw poker”.
“Abe” was
not long in getting well acquainted with Western “ways and means” as well as
Western manners and methods, and he decided that
Rock
Port
had a good bunch of fighters, and he proceeded to give them appropriate
fighting names. Wm. M. Blake was
“Doublin Trix;” A.F. Tiffany, “Barny Aaron;” J.D. Dopf, “Donney Harris” – both feather-weights
– John McNeal, “Pop Tuckley;” Abe L. Williams, “Patsy Sheppard;” D.A. Colvin,
“Joe Coburn;” Geo. Blake, “Sugar Jim;” William Thompson, “Oyster Jack;” Lee
Sanders, “Tim Hussey;” W. G. Bartholomew, “Ned O’Baldwin;” Robt. Hunter, “Nat
Bowley”. There were others, but it is
long years since those actors were playing comedy and near-tragedy in, around
and about
Rock
Port
that many of their names have been
erased from memory’s tablet.
“Tim
Hussey” was a “heavy-weight” not skillful with his “dukes”, but when he fell on
his man that man never came to the scratch again.
Fearing you
readers may decide that we were a “brutal gang,” it can be stated as a fact
that no blood was ever spilled by anybody; no eyes were ever blacked or blued
and all were good friends and true.
“Patsy
Sheppard” stayed with the Thompson’s until they went to
Phelps
City
and engaged in merchandising, banking, farming and feeding. He extended his acquaintance and increased in
popularity as a trade getter, and became popular with all the pretty girls in
eastern
Nebraska
,
southwestern
Iowa
and northwest
Missouri
,
and it is needless to say that he picked out the best of the lot and got
married. About this time he went to
Nodaway county and sold goods at Barnard for several years, then he went to
Maitland and there enlarged his business, but the hard times and too liberal
extension of credit to his customers caused him to go broke, and he turned over
his entire stock, notes, cash, books and household goods to his creditors and
went to Maryville and engaged to write life insurance for the New York Life
Ins. Co., and was so successful that the company sent him a round trip ticket
to New York City, $250 cash, feasted him and paid all of his incidental
expenses for a week or more, because he had made the best record of more than
one hundred Missouri agents had made during the preceding year.
Several
years later he went to
South Dakota
and laid claim in 160 acres, improved and lived thereon until received a
patent, and he kept on writing insurance just the same old way. Then he moved back to
Maryville
, and if your life is not insured
you had better go over and get it fixed before he comes after you.
Now, Mr.
Editor, I would not have asked for so much space in your valuable paper had it
not been for the fact that he met a mutual friend a few days ago and wondered
if I had forgotten him. This may answer
his question in part only.
J.D.D.
Journal
Dec. 9, 1915
(Same)
The first
horrible tragedy of the war of 1861 at
Rock
Port
was the killing of Edward Grebe, the son of Mr. and Mrs. Martin Grebe, on
Main street
, near
the old Rock Port Hotel. I do not
remember the date, but it was but a short time after the firing on
Ft.
Sumpter
. The street was filled with armed men and they
were generally insane and anxious to kill. The Secessionists were in the majority, as only nineteen men had voted
for Abraham Lincoln in 1860, and as far as my knowledge extends, A.E. Wyatt is
the only man of the nineteen now living. The man who shot young Grebe is unknown to this writer and was certainly
unknown to his friends, else he would have paid the penalty ere the sun went
down.
The event
caused great excitement and the news spread rapidly over the county as well as
to
Iowa
and
Nebraska
. Some Union men went 6to
Iowa
and joined the volunteer regiments
which were rapidly filling up. Most of
the able-bodied secessionists turned their faces to the southward with the
purpose of joining “Pap” Price, while others went to
Nebraska
City
,
“The Mecca of the Unterrified!” Most of
the old men stayed in the county and shouted for Jeff Davis when they met in
the woods.
After the
funeral of young Grebe the Union men hastily organized, mounted their horses
and started in pursuit of their south-bound neighbors, whom they overtook on
the bluff-road, near where no stands Craig, and here was fought the battle of
“Fistafunda”. The Federal forces
consisted of two detachments, the one under command of Col. P.A. Thompson,
taking the valley route, the other taking the stage road through the hills, and
the two detachments met just southeast of Craig when the battle raged. The Southerners were still half a mile in
advance when the Northerners joined forces and they kept widening the breach
until they had placed a good mile between themselves and their pursuers, their
horses having been fresh at the beginning of the battle. There was no bloodshed in the battle.
At about
the same date the battle of Blain’s Lane was fought near
Mound
City
and resulted in one killed and one wounded.
Some of
those who engaged in the battle of “Fistafunda” returned to
Rock
Port
,
and one, at least, enlisted in a
Nebraska
regiment, and, if alive is drawing a good pension from “Uncle Sam”. The tactics of the Southerners in the events
above recorded are commendable under the circumstances. “To fight and run away, You may live another
day!” “It is better to a live coward
than to be a dead hero.”
I was at
one time stationed at a blockhouse on the west bank of the
Osage
river
, a few miles below
Jefferson
City
. There
were many squirrels in the woods, and I took a small rifle in hand and went
forth to slay a few and was successful in getting a nice string. I was lost, however, but the sun was shining
and I turned my face toward “Sol” and came to an opening on the bank of the
river, where I sat me down on a stump to rest. I had rested but a few minutes, when nine men on horseback, armed with
long rifles, appears on the opposite bank of the river three or four hundred
feet away and about seventy-five feet above my level. They stopped and after a few seconds raised
their rifles to their shoulders and fired in the direction of the stump upon
which I sat. I returned the fire and
ran, and I could run in those days.
In the
summer of 1862 five or six steamboats, loaded with army supplies, were burned
at the levy in
St. Louis
. I was selected by the United States Secret
Service to go to
Jerseyville
,
Ill.
, to look up the
incendiaries. I played the part of an
Irish rebel for two weeks before I was satisfied that I had “Spotted” a part of
the gang, and on a bright Sunday morning I walked down to the railroad station
to wait for a west-bound train. The
train was late and perhaps I was anxious and walked up and down and around the
depot platform. When I came near the
group of touch looking men, heard one of the men say: “Get a rope!” and one or two men started up
town in a hurry. I walked eastward along
the railroad tracks behind the line of freight cars to the second alley and up
the alley, crossed the first street and at the second street corner watched for
the men with the rope, and I soon saw them with the rope. Then I ran westward down the street leading
to the depot and then down the first alley. The train was coming and the welcome whistle of the locomotive was what
saved me from pulling hemp that day. The
active use of a strong pair of legs helped to make good my escape from one
“Necktie social.” I would advi8sed
everybody to practice running as a “Safety First” exercise.
Killing men
was practiced in the early days of The Journal frequently, not only in
Atchison
county, but with
greater certainty and safety as you neared the equator. More than one hundred men have been killed in
Platte
county in the past seventy-five years
and there has never been a legal hanging in the county. Judge Lynch, however, has held several terms
of court down in that neighborhood.
There was
some fighting done about Weston but no great forces were engaged, but there was
considerable running. Now most of the
able-bodied down that way are running for office or soon will be. If I wanted office I would never go to
Platte
county unless I had killed a man or two.
J.D.D.
Journal
Dec. 16, 1915
(Same)
Many things
happened at
Rock
Port
during my first two years in the
village. P.A. & F.M. Thompson had
the largest stock of goods in the county in a building where the
Masonic
Temple
now stands. E.L. Clark had a small stock of wet and dry
goods, tobacco, cigars, dryed herring, matches, pens, ink and paper, on the
corner now occupied by Christian Bros. department store. There was a saloon in the cellar under the
southeast corner of the Rock Port Hotel. Dr. John Dozier sold drugs from the building under the Journal
office. Across the street a man by the
name of Hunter had a harness shop. On
the corner where now stands Spulock’s drug store, was Pike & Durfee,
Attorneys at Law. Capt. John C. Hope
made saddles and harness and read and repeated Shakespeare to his patrons while
they waited, in a small shop where Bischof’s hardware store now stands. On the west bank of Rock Creek, not far north
of the depot, old Mr. Spencer made boots and shoes and repaired them. Pat Murphy was the tinner and his shop was
about where the M.E. church South now stands. Geo. Traub, Chas. Salfrank and Thompson Mitchell were the blacksmiths
and wagon-makers, and they did most of the work in their line for the
county. Chas. Renner was the Merchant
Taylor, and a jolly German was he, as well as a philosopher.
These
business men generally had a notion that they could do all the business and
that competition would mean death to their interests. There had been more
business before the war, and vacant buildings were now more numerous, two to
one, than those occupied.
It is not
on record that G. W. Reed, editor of the Rock Port Herald, stayed in town long
enough to get out the second issue of the Herald after the war begun. If you want to kill a town dead stop the
newspaper. If you want to build a city
start a live newspaper at the first crossroads, and two or three more of the
same kind as soon as possible. There are
not less than three good towns over in little Worth county which were
cross-roads twenty-five years ago. Each
of these towns have newspapers, and their editors are alive. A town without a newspaper is a good place to
buy business.
Fourteen
years ago
Endicott
,
New York
, was not on the map. A few days ago a gentleman handed me a bundle
of newspapers. I found it to be a very
handsome country weekly of 64 pages, printed on the best quality of rag print,
and beautifully illustrated with photogravure. About fourteen years ago Endicott, Johnson & Co., bought several
hundred acres where the city now stands, because it was cheap and had excellent
water-power thereon and pure water for domestic use. They laid off a town and built a shoe
shop. They employed other shoemakers and
sold them lots cheap on which to build homes, and at present they have many
thousand employed in the making of shoes and the Endicott shoe is worn by rich
and poor everywhere in the
United
States
. There is no such poor land in the Platte Purchase as that which
surrounds the city of
Endicott
. A
Kansas
grasshopper could not make a living on an acre of ground near Endicott.
If the
shoemakers of
Rock
Port
who pegged shoes
from 1863 to 1865 had only followed the plan of Endicott, Johnson & Co.,
Rock
Port
would now be a city of at least 25,000; but we all make mistakes
occasionally. I do every day.
However,
Rock
Port
has done well, and is still on the map and will spread itself over much more of
the best dirt the sun ever shown upon.
I think it
is in the year 1864 that a man walked into the office and asked me where he
could rent a store. I told him I thought
he could buy one cheaper than he could rent, and showed him where he could find
Col. Thompson. He returned in half an
hour and told me he had rented a large two-story building, 25x90 feet, on the
corner where Ed. V. Kuntz’ store now stands, and which had formerly been owned
and occupied by Dillon & Hawke, for the sale of merchandise. He then asked for advertising rates for one
year, and was informed that $100 would be charged for one column one year, etc. He took two columns, and told me to edit his
ad, which I proceeded to do, and it read about as follows:
“L. &
J. Sanders, dealers in general merchandise, dry goods and groceries, hat, caps,
boots, shoes and clothing, notions, etc. etc. Corner of
Main
and Cass streets,
Rock Port
,
Missouri
.
That
advertisement appeared in The Journal one year without change. In addition many locals were inserted calling
attention to the advantage of trading the L. & J. Sanders. Sanders Brothers dissolved partnership later
on. Leopold moved to a smaller building
near the southeast corner of
Main
and Mill
st4eets and was appointed postmaster. Jacob opened with his share of the stock on the corner where now stands
the
Masonic
Temple
. After making as much money as they needed, raising families and helping
to build up the town and improve the country, the Sanders Bros. sold out and
left for the far West. Jacob went to
Pueblo
,
Colo.
,
where he died, and the last heard of Leopold he was a wholesale dealer in
liquors in
San Francisco
,
California
.
Lyman B.
Stivers succeeded E. L. Clark and put the largest and best selected stock of
merchandise brought to
Atchison
county in those days. He was from
Cincinnati
,
Ohio
,
and brought with him many years experience in the business. He later took a
partner by the name of Frame, but the partnership was of short existence. Both were single men when they made their
advent, but shortly each took women partners for life.
Then came
Christian Imhoff, the “Merchandise Prince,” who sold nobody his goods without
he had the “cash on the counter first.” He refused the banker credit for 100 pounds of
flour before the bank opened in the morning. When the cash came he filled the order and “delivered the goods” by
carrying 100 pounds of
Davis
’
Best on his back to the banker’s home half a mile away.
Many men of
many kinds have sold many goods of many kinds, both wet and dry goods and
hardware in
Rock
Port
since those golden days of long
ago. If all had prospered as those did
who made these early efforts in the business world and had enlarged and
extended their trade, and advertised in The Journal, The Democrat, The Granger,
The Agitator, The Mail and some other defunct papers – names forgotten – Rock
Port would have been the metropolis of the Platte Purchase.
J.D.D.
Journal
Dec. 24, 1915
(Same)
July 4th,
1864, was the first National Holiday which I helped to celebrate in Atchison
county, and to date I have had something to do with one hundred and fifty, more
or less, during my sojourn in the Platte Purchase.
It was a
tame affair as I now regard it, as compared with many that have followed. The nation, at that5 time, was in great peril
and there was great fear that the
Union
of
states might be dissolved. None had such
abiding faith in The All Father as did Abraham Lincoln, who was guiding the
Ship of State over the stormy sea of war. But the sun shown as bright as it ever shown on a July morning, as we
journeyed the hills through Union City, along the bluffs, passing the home of
Jacob Hughes and thence across the valley to the Colvin bridge, where was found
ample shade under the tall cottonwood, elm and sycamore trees on the bank below
the bridge where now stands the home of Warren Melvin.
One thing
about that celebration will abide with me while memory lasts – the dinner, the
like of which is seldom in evidence in these degenerate days on such
occasions. I had many invitations to
dine with other friends but had accepted an invitation to eat with Col. P.A.
Thompson, and had to decline with many regrets, all except in the case of Col.
A. B. Durfee’s invite to eat his “grub”. I knew3 it was a tie between Mrs. Sue Thompson, her daughter Belle and
Mrs. Sallie Durfee, and I just had to divide time with the twain. There was no frills on any of the eats, just
plain, substantial food; the best of bread, roast chicken, good coffee, cakes
and pies, pickles and golden butter, and all in great abundance. No ice cream and gingersnaps; no finger-bowls
and napkins. It was well cooked and well
served, and so generously were you asked to be helped to more, that I really
regretted that I was so small that I could not be more accommodating unless I
were permitted to stand up. I wish to
state that the Thompson and Durfee families were in a state of preparedness on
that occasion that would even satisfy President Wilson and make his White House
dinners look like 30 cents.
There was
the usual talk before dinner, the reading of the Declaration of Independence,
patriotic songs and music by the
Rock
Port
band. The program was arranged on the ground and to
suit the crowd. Hen they wanted some one
to speak they called him out, and when they wanted a song they said so and it
was sung; when they wanted the band to play they demanded it and they responded
as often as they could blow.
After
dinner there was more talk, more singing and more blowing and some more eating
and drinking and about
four o’clock
there was a benediction and everybody went home. There was a dance at
Rock
Port
that night, in the Masonic hall on the hill where S.M. Smith lived when I was
last in
Rock
Port.
About
nine o’clock
the rain began to fall in torrents and it rained all night and we had to carry
the girls home in the morning. Very few
of the people are living who remember the events of the day, and I have
forgotten most of them myself.
July 4th, 1865
,
was celebrated at
Sonora
in a beautiful grove a mile or more north and west of town, on the banks of the
Missouri river
, and was attended by a much
larger crowd than the one that attended the 1864 meet. Notice had been given in the
Rock
Port
and Brownville papers, as well as the
Sidney
,
Iowa
News, and there was no lack
of patriotic oratory, much more music and better singing. The vocal music was conducted by Prof.
Workman and his family, all of whom were good musicians. Lot Watts also added his voice to the chorus
and A.E. Wyatt struck the high notes and I went down the cellar to find the low
ones. Peace had been declared and
everybody was feeling good and the orators sent the Eagle out of sight. I did not crate, but did eat.
Capt. John Hope
decided that the great feature of the celebration of July 4th, 1866,
would be a “Barn Dance,” and the grounds selected was on the hill south and
west of the stand-pipe on the road to Union City, then the rival of Rock
Port. The underbrush had been grubbed
and the earth leveled and thoroughly packed down by the committee, and then
covered with wheat bran. The night of
the 3rd it rained and the dancing rounds the next morning at sunrise
had the appearance of an immense buckwheat cake and not enough butter in sight
to make it edible. The sun shown on it,
however, and by
10 o’clock
it was ready for the dancers. The
celebration had all the features of a real frolic until it was about time for
dinner, when Edward Stiles, Jr., was not to be found, and the crowd at once
became a searching party. As the woods
were largely inhabited by wolves, panthers and wildcats, the question of the
whereabouts of Eddie became matter of serious consideration and the crowd so
recently enjoying themselves, were filled with anxious forebodings. In less than an hour after the alarm was
given, Eddie was found about a mile from the celebration grounds and restored
to his parents, and the remainder of the day was spent in rejoicing that the
lost was found.
I believe
the next celebration held in a beautiful bur-oak grove across the branch at the
north end of
Pittsburg avenue
. It was a barbecue and James Buckham furnished
the beef, and he and Capt. Hope did the roasting. Boss Miles sent up the Eagle, and I wish you
would ask him to tell how he was invited to eat that big Thanksgiving turkey
that was stolen from his ____ on Thanksgiving morning after it was ready for
the roast. I would do so myself if it
were not “contrary to the statutes in such cases made and provided.”
J.D.D.
Journal
Dec. 30, 1915
(Same)
I am
reminded today that the holidays of 1915 and 1916 are at hand. Everybody is talking about Christmas and New
Years days. Those who are not talking
are thinking on the same, and those who are not talking or thinking are reading
about the coming events. Pictures of
Santa Claus fill the newspapers and magazines and the ambiquitous Saint has his
headquarters at every store, shop, hotel, saloon, care, garage and livery
stable in every city, village and hamlet on earth, if I believe half I
read. It is safe to say that there are
more men and women, boys and girls now trying to be good for a week or two,
even though he has to run away from himself to accomplish that high purpose.
The
holidays of 1843 and 1844 have not grown dim to my memory, although I have
helped to celebrate many since then that were more elaborate, but none more
joyous and happy. My stockings, real
stockings, knit for me by a dear old-fashioned grandmother, and pinned together
by mother, were hung beside the fireplace in a miner’s cabin in the Badger
state, and father told me how Santa Claus would come in a sleigh ladened with
toys for girls and boys, drawn by four reindeer and how quickly he would “down
der shimney come, and der socks to fill for his good little poy, Shonney!” And it all came true.
Twenty
years later I spent my first Christmas and New Years days in
Rock
Port.
Mr. _____ Colvin, wife and daughter came to
Rock
Port
about the 23rd of December and went to the home of Mr. and Mrs. John
L. Shelters whose home was on the corner of Cass and Kansas streets, where he
passed away on the day following. It was
arranged by friends that Col. Pike and Miss Abbie Durfee was to watch until
midnight and I and a young lady with whom I was acquainted were to watch till
morning. The body was placed in the
house next north which was to be occupied by the Colvin family. It had snowed all day and at
9 o’clock
a terrific blizzard set
in. I went to the young lady’s home and
found that she had already gone to the Colvin home, and I followed. I advised
the watchers that they had better all go home on account of the difficulty of
getting away later on, or on the morrow, and that I would watch alone. It was still snowing in the morning and the
roads to Elmwood were so badly drifted that the burial was attended with much
difficulty.
Miss Hasha
Thompson departed this life at the home of her brother, P.A. Thompson, on the
31st day of December 1863, and was interred the day following at
Elmwood, which was perhaps the coldest day of the winter. But few persons ventured outdoors and only
eight to ten persons went to the cemetery, and all who did returned with frozen
ears, nose and fingers, except the writer.
If there
was any celebrations of the holidays at any place in
Atchison
county that season no report thereof
reach The Journal office. However, it is
not recorded that Santa Claus was less active in those days of trial, suffering
and mourning, than he had been in the past. No present day fads, follies nor fashions can dim the glories of the
old-fashioned Christmas at home, with father, mother, grandfather and
grandmother, uncles and aunts, brothers and sisters around the old fireplace,
making merry with song and story the long winter evening before Christmas. Neither can modern invention displace the
Christmas Tree, nor drive Santa Claus from his Throne of Ice nor silence the
Christmas Bells.
In the past
seventy years I have heard many good stories about Santa Claus, have read much
more, but never heard nor read anything about his father and mother. He must have an interesting history and I
would like to have a copy of it to read, although it might occupy the remaining
days of this life. He appears as
represented in all the pictures I have seen as a jolly old man, dressed in the
same old suit. He never wears an evening
dress although he is out all night and appears at many receptions. He appears to be of German origin and must
feed on beer and pretzels.
I will
venture the statement that the first Christmas entertainment in
Rock
Port
after the advent of The Journal was held in the old Methodist church. I do not remember the date nor just what was
done, but there are many fathers and mothers now living there who can tell you
all about it, and I hope some one more competent that I will favor your readers
with a good story about that as well as the many subsequent entertainments that
have been given on the same ground around which so many pleasant memories
cluster.
If any boy
or girl who is a reader will give me the exact age of Santa Claus, I will agree
to give the winner a suitable Christmas present in 1916 if I am living at that
date.
J.D.D.