Pioneer Life, Incidents, Etc.

Cedar Creek Township

             The Cedar Creek pioneers built their log huts hastily, and were content to live for awhile on the ground floor, not because of the lack of second stories, although this would have been a sufficient reason, but because the ground was the floor, in some cases at least. A more aristocratic form of floor than the ground floor was the puncheon, made of split timbers, hewed to a certain degree of smoothness. If made with care, this kind would do for a dance floor. The finest that the times afforded, was of unplaned boards brought from Michigan City for the purpose. Floors of the first named class, were often swept with a brush or bundle of twigs from a tree. Because of the great distance to market and mill, the larger often ran low, and the cupboard occasionally got into the condition spoken of in the pathetic story entitled Mother Hubbard. At such times, the diet became monotonous, being reduced often to corn bread. An old settler speaks of going 100 miles to the Wabash to mill with four yoke of oxen. The Indians ate muskrats; but few of the whites indulged in such highly seasoned food; however, it is stated by those who partook of Indian hospitality, that broiled muskrat is a savory and toothsome viand. Fishing and hunting were profitable as well as pleasant, for lake, creek, river and marsh abounded with fish and waterfowl, while deer bounded over the prairie or sheltered in the groves. Several of the oldest settlers speak of seventy or eighty deer being killed in one day in the Kankakee swamp. It seems that a sudden cold spell froze ice over river and marsh in a  single night; many deer were on the islands; the ice was very smooth, and as soon as they broker cover they would fall upon the ice. Being unable to stand, or, rather, to run, upon the ice, they were at the mercy of men and dogs, and were sometimes killed with clubs and axes. Although unable to stand upon the glaze of ice, when caught, and an attempt was made to kill them with a knife, they would kick with such rapidity, vigor and effect, that it was a difficult and dangerous task for one man unaided to kill one. At the time mentioned, one man and his two dogs caught three at the same time on the ice, but not even one deer was dispatched until help came. For many years, bridges were few and poor. Dr. Wood speaks of swimming with his horse in one day West Creek, Cedar Creek and Eagle Creek, while on his way to see the sick settlers. He also speaks of going through pole bridges, and narrowly escaping with his life.

            The winter of 1842-43, was an unusually early and severe one. On the 11^th day of November, 1842, William Wells started from his home two miles south of Lowell, to a grist and woolen mill at Wilmington, Ill. As he was returning on the 13^th, he encountered a remarkably hard snow-storm for the season, or, in fact, for any season. It was impossible to see any considerable distance and the cold became intense. Being blinded by the storm, he lost his way on Grand Prairie, in Illinois. The first that was known of his fate was when his horses came home. He had cut the hame strings and other straps and allowed them to seek shelter for themselves, while he, it is thought, tried to stay all night in the wagon. Probably finding himself unable to keep from freezing in the wagon, he left it and started out into the driving storm without any definite idea of where he was going. He must have wandered about in this aimless way for some time, for his frozen body was found over four miles from the deserted wagon and was brought to the Lowell Cemetery for interment.

            Quite a history grew out of this sad accident. It seems that some medical men desired a subject for the dissecting room, and hearing of this burial in a new and sparsely settled country, they determined to rob the grave, and an Irishman was employed to open it. The escaping gases ignited, and the Irishman fled terror stricken. The medical men who were waiting near with cutters, supposing that they were discovered, plied their horses with whips and drove as if an avenging spirit was after them. The facts of the case soon became known to the fun-loving members of the community. They notified the suspected physicians that swift footed justice was after them. The doctors were thus induced to disguise themselves and flee. According to a preconcerted plan they were captured and brought before a Justice of the Peace for trial. With much solemnity the investigation proceeded. The doctors had employed counsel and were wrought up to a high state of excitement. The lawyers objected, excepted and quarreled; finally, when the trial had reached the climax of interest and excitement, the attorney for the prosecution became, or feigned to become, too full for utterance, and the Justice dismissed the case to the great relief of the alarmed medical men.

            Somewhere about 1836, some flax caught fire one night in a loft of the cabin of Peter Surprise. The family had all retired, excepting Mrs. Surprise, who gave the alarm. The flames spread rapidly, and the family were driven out into a deep snow, very scantily clad. Martin Driscoll, who was then stopping with Mr. Surprise, escaped with only one pair of pants. After the adults had all gotten out, it was discovered that one of Mr. Surprise’s children had been left behind, when Mr. Driscoll heroically rushed through the flames and succeeded in rescuing the imperiled infant.

Source:  Counties of Porter and Lake, Indiana. Historical and Biographical. Weston A. Goodspeed, Historical Editor. Charles Blanchard, Biographical Editor. F.A. Battey & Co., Publishers, 1882