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CHAPTER XIII

Early Joys and Sorrows

    While the early settlers had to encounter many hardships, there were still a few threads of gold running in the woof and warp of their pioneer lives. Their cheeks were aglow with health, their hopes were strong, and their hearts were light.

    There were no social barriers excluding the poor from the rich; all were poor in this world's goods, yet all enjoyed a wealth of honor, social equality, and contentment. Sometimes the meal-chest became empty, and before Haymaker's mill had been built on Cedar Creek, a domestic strait of this kind entailed considerable inconvenience on the settler. A milling trip required from a week's to three week's time. Sometimes the settler had to "wait his turn" for several days. When this was the case, he slept in the mill at night, or used his own wagon as a sleeping apartment. He also took along provisions for several days, and if these became exhausted, he had his rifle and fishing tackle with which to solve the dilemma. The mills were located at Bentonsport, Keosauqua, or sometimes the settler had to go as far as Burlington.

    When there were deep snows or impassable roads, everybody ran out of bread-stuff and had to either live on boiled corn or else take their corn to the home of the writer's grandfather, Thos. Hickenlooper, who lived where the town of Foster now stands, and grind their grist on a hand-mill something similar to the spice-mills now seen in grocery stores. It was operated by a crank, and contained a fly-wheel about two feet in diameter. Grinding on this mill was laborious work, and, like the mills of the gods, ground slowly; but not exceedingly fine, like the latter, for the buhrs were dull. The remains of the old mill are still lying about the old Hickenlooper homestead.

    It may seem strange to state that during the first few years of the county's settlement water was scarce. The settlers either did not know where to dig for or else there was none on the flat, high, prairie regions. Old settlers still claim that there was but little living water in the

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ground until after the soil had been broken and cultivated for several seasons. It all drained off into streams, the virgin sod shedding it without absorbing it. Nobody ever thought of constructing ponds or reservoirs.

    The prairie-itch was another pioneer luxury which the people of the present generation do not enjoy. It usually entered on a seven-years lease with the latter, but at the end of that period the lessee was seldom evicted from the premises. It ran through families, and many well regulated families were never without it. It was a sort of heirloom in those families. It is generally understood that the itch is fostered by habits of filth and unwholesome neglect of the bodily condition, thus inviting a small animal parasite to burrow near the surface of the skin, subsisting on the impurities of the blood. It is hard, however, to account for the greater prevalence of the disease in early days unless it may be referred to the fact that in those days of scarcity of clothing many people were obliged to wear a single suit for a great length of time without change or washing. This, of course, rendered the skin impure, and made it possible for the parasite to seize a foothold.

The Charivari.

    In 1847 there were but four families in the village of Albia. Two of these families occupied the little log courthouse—viz., the Flints and the Marcks. Dr. Floint had two charming daughters—Amy and Nancy. Jonas Wescoatt won the heart of Amy, and Robert Meek, who for many years since was one of the proprietors of the well-known woolen mills of Bonaparte, Ia., wooed the equally charming Nancy. The wedding was to be a double affair, and special efforts were taken by the contracting parties to evade the inevitable charivari.

    On the 10th of October the wedding day was arranged, and Mr. Meek drove over in a spring-wagon, and the plan was to drive to Eddyville immediately after the ceremony and escape the serenading crowd. During the evening of the 9th the boys "got wind" of the affair on the morrow, and of the plans to escape; so they took off one of the wagon wheels and concealed it. No trace of the wheel could be found, and the bridal parties were thrown into great consternation. When the hour fixed for the marriage arrived, the justice made his appearance on time, but the bridal

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quartet was conspicuously absent. The assembled crowd of boys grew uproarious in their glee, for the thought the wedding had been postponed. The justice, however, had been notified to return home and reappear in the evening and tie the knot secretly. He did so, and the newly coupled quartet repaired to the cottage of Mr. Wescoatt to spend the night.

   In the meantime, however, when Mr. Michael Lower, the justice, reappeared, eh was followed by a spy, who saw the nuptial proceedings and communicated the fact to the crowd. Late at night they stormed the Wescoatt stronghold and forced the garrison to capitulate. The charivari was a great success, and each bride was compelled to present herself to receive the blessing of the crowd.

    In the morning the missing wheel was found by the side of the wagon.

An Interesting Find.

    One fall, in the '50s, Dr. Gutch, then a young medical student, was teaching school near where Maxon now stands. One day, during the noon hour, he and the school-boys were out on the hillsides, gathering hazel-nuts. They saw a strange object some distance away, near the roadside. Some thought it a deer, others a mad dog having a fit. They crept cautiously up to it to investigate, and they finally discovered that it was a man. They approached the apparently lifeless form, and discovered it to be that of Joe McMullen. Gutch examined his pulse, and then remarked: "Damned if he ain't alive!" They carried him to a hay-stack near by, and in due time he became conscious, and returned home. He had just made a horse-trade with Jesse Snodgrass, and had gotten $15 to boot. He had considered it a good trade; and to get the better of Jesse Snodgrass, in a horse-trade was an achievement worthy of celebrating by taking a drink at Harrow's grocery. He had taken a little too much, and on his return home had become "becalmed."

Bee-Hunting

    The early settlers found the forests alive with wild honey-bees. Almost anyone could find a bee-tree by strolling through the woods and examining every knot-hole in the trees; but the professional bee-hunter had a more methodical way of locating the hive. The honey-bee, as everyone

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knows, flies straight, or in a "bee-line," to its home, when laden with honey, and in order to get the exact bearings of the bee-tree, the hunter took the "course" of the homing-bee. There were several ways of securing these observations. ONe way was for the hunter to lie down flat on the ground in the midst of a growth of wild flowers, and as the bee which came to work on the blossoms took its departure, the falcon-eyed bee-hunter got its "course" and followed it up. Sometimes the distance would be a mile or more.

    It is said that when the bee-hunter became old and dim of eyesight, he seized the bee, and, removing its sting, thrust in its place a tiny white feather, and then released the insect. In its flight homeward he could follow with his eye the white feather for a long distance. This, however, is perhaps a popular vagarism.

    Another method was to attract the bee to a certain locality by means of "bait." This bait consisted of a pair of corn-cobs placed in a fruit can and saturated with a saline fluid always available. The bees would gather in large numbers, and the hunter, lying on his stomach underneath the suspended "bait," got his "courses."

    Another method was to go into the forest and burn honeycomb, when the scent of the burning would attract the bees.

    Sometimes a bee-tree would yield as high as several hundred pounds of honey, and the hunter's accumulation of sweets was usually stored in "dug-outs," or large troughs made of cottonwood logs.

    Among the writer's earliest recollections are several of these old "dug-outs" stored in his grandfather's smoke-house. They had at first been used to hold honey, then, later, as receptacles for containing pork; and, within the writer's recollection, held soft soap. Barrels were not so plentiful as now, and it was an easy task to hollow out a large log of soft wood to take their place.

    Bee-trees are still frequently found in the woods, but the hives do not thrive, and seldom live through the winter. The bees are from tame colonies, and they do not seem to adapt themselves to habitations in trees.

The Log-Cabin.

    The nearest approach to a "house not made with hands" was the log-shanty of the "squatter." The logs did not so

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much as have the bark removed, and the floor, at least, was made by the Supreme Architect of the universe, for it consisted of the bare ground. The chimney was made of sticks and mud, and the roof was formed of clapboards, or, not unfrequently, of layers of slough-grass.

    This dwelling was but a temporary structure, and as soon as the "squatter" made up his mind to take a claim, he set about to erect a more elaborate building. He cut the finest white oak logs which he could find in the forest, hewed them perfectly square and smooth, and with his ox-team hauled them to his building-site. Then he invited the entire community to the "house-raising." This was a tremendous social affair. The neighboring housewives, for a radius of ten or twelve miles, came in and helped bake pumpkin pie, or brought them with other victuals already cooked. The young ladies came too, but, as they were "dressed up" in their "hoops," they merely "set around," or helped wait on the tables.

    In the crowd there were always men who were locally famous as good "cornermen"—i.e., men who could carry up the corner of a log-house with more skill than others. One of these was selected for each of the four corners, and, as might be supposed, each vied with the other in a contest of skill. When the writer's grandfather's house was erected, the prospective occupant of the structure offered a premium of a bushel of potatoes to the "cornermen" doing the best job. Allan White bore off the prize, though Lewis Arnold came in as a close second.

    This house was built in 1848 or 1850, and was a large two-story. It was then sided with lumber hauled form "the river" and was skirted with two verandas and all painted white. It was one of the largest edifices in the neighborhood, and its owner, in consequence of a kind of baronial homage, accorded to him by his neighbors through a veneration for the size of the house and the number of chimneys, elected him "squire," and his son Charles constable, which emoluments they shared for several years. The house is still standing, and when remodeled, a few months ago, the hugh square logs were found to be as firm and solid as when they were placed in position nearly forty years ago; but the "cornermen" are all long since dead.

    When a house was raised, and the "puncheon" floor laid, the festivities were concluded by a big dance, or "ball," as

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the eminently respectable tone of the pioneer dance was entitled to be termed. It was a thoroughly cultivated and respectable affair, and was very different from many of the public dances of the present day.

The "Hoedown."

    Such is the name commonly applied to the free-for-all public dance. While those who participate in the "hoe-down" are by no means rude or scantily civilized, yet at the public dance-house they come in contact, and for the time being, at least, are placed on the same social level, with persons of both sexes whom they would not recognize on the street or in the home.

    At the common "hoedown" those French terms used by the man who "calls off" are Anglicized into plain English; for instance, the caller will shout the familiar term "Chassez partners!" but in the "hoedown" whirl it s translated into:

"Swing your taw,
Everybody dance to please Grandpa!"

Another term is indicated thus:

"Crow hop out and bird hop in,
All jine flippers and swing 'em agin!"

Or, if the gentleman is directed to swing to the right and the lady to the left, the man who "calls off" shouts from his elevated position on the inverted barrel: "Jay-bird to the right, yellow-hammer to the left!"

    Taken as a whole, the "hoedown" has its legitimate place in society, and ought not to be too harshly criticized.

Camp-Meetings and Water-Melons.

    Unhappily, the old-fashioned Methodist camp-meeting is a joy of the past. The church edifice has long since gathered the people away from "God's first temples" and encompassed them by frescoed walls and vaulted ceilings. Instead of "Coronation," "Antioch," and "Old Hundred" rolling out upon the assemblage of rich and poor alike in a flood of harmony, awakening a spiritual warmth in every heart, the fashionable church walls reëcho the superb strains of some lofty anthem, which, while sung by a trained choir, accompanied by violin, cornet, and pipe organ, yet fails to find a responsive chord in every heart.

    The aged sister, old-fashioned in both her ways and her garb, likes to go where she can try to sing, even though she cannot "carry a tune." At the old-time camp-meeting

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she could both exercise her discordant voice and wear her plain bonnet and calico gown without being stared at.

    The meeting was conducted under the foliage of some grove, or sometimes beneath a great tent. Those who attended from a distance lived in tents pitched on the grounds, where they cooked their meals and slept at night on straw-beds. The camp-meeting was usually held in September, and the water-melon was the fruit offering and the fried chickens the burnt offering at this sacred tabernacle.

    Of later years, the modern "holiness" offshoot of the United Brethren Church, and a kindred organization splitting off from the Methodist and other churches, and taking the name of "Friends," have each revived the old-time camp-meeting to some extent. They hold periodical sessions in camps, and in their devotional practices are distinguished by a fervor in some cases amounting to a frenzy. At times the subject lies in a cataleptic state for hours, unconscious of surroundings.

    The "Hardshell" or Missionary Baptist preachers of early days approached nearest to the ideal conception of John the Baptist of any of the champions of Christ. While they did not subsist on locusts, they may have begirted themselves with leathern girdles. At any rate, they were usually of a migratory species of divine, ranging up and down the streams and holding revivals in the little school-houses. They scorned to preach for money and always guaranteed salvation "without money and without price-ah." They affixed the syllable "ah" to the end of every sentence as a sort of declamatory balance-wheel to regulate the inflections of their voices. They were good men in any capacity, but they had a particular aversion to high-toned churches, and to preachers who wore "biled" shirts and paper collars.

    The writer remembers old Brother Jackson, who used to "labor" down on Soap Creek. "Brethren and sisturn," he used to say, "I ain't one of them big guns who preaches in the great cities like Centerville and Moravia and Albia and Ottumwa-ah, but hit's always been my lot to preach in the dark corners of the earth-ah, whar the pot biles the slowest and the purse is the lightest-ah!"

    Brother Jackson's dramatic illustration of the sinner's imminent danger of hell-fire was clothed in all the fervent imagery of Dante's "Inferno." "And now, dyin' sinner-ah, you are hangin' by a cord to a limb that bends over the lake

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of fire and brimestone-ah. The blue blazes of etarnal hell-fire have about burned the limb in two. It bends, it crackles as its wood is roasted, and your body settles further down into the lake! Then the cord takes fire, and is burnin' in two-ah, and that is how you are hangin' to-night-ah. Your thread of life is about burned in two, and your soul is settin' down in the lake of unquenchable fire-ah."

    Jim Pollard, when at the flood-tide of his spiritual zeal, was a power in the land. When he ascended the pulpit, he invariably removed his coat, and later on, as he warmed up, threw off his vest, and by this time the sermon began to assume a funnel-shaped form, and those of the congregation nearest the pulpit began to scamper for back seats.

    One Sunday morning, while mowing slough-grass in the Soap Creek bottom, the Lord came to him in a vision and recommended that he mend his ways. He (Jim) said: "As I swung the scythe to and fro, the stubbles would strike against it, and the scythe would say: 'Go to meetin', Jim! go to meetin', Jim!' Then when I would whet the blade, the scythe-stone would say, as it struck it on either side: 'Go quick, go long! go quick, go long!' "

    On another occasion Brother Pollard called at the home of Dr. Arnold in Urbana Township, while the family were at breakfast. They had boiled cabbage, and Jim was specially fond of boiled cabbage. "Won't you sit up and take breakfast with us?" asked Mrs. ARnold. "Ah, no!" was his reply, as he looked wistfully at the dish of cabbage; "I am too full of the love of God to hold cabbage!" He had just returned from a revival.

    On another occasion he had just returned from a preaching tour in Missouri, and had received a call to preach at the school-house at Albany. He began his discourse with this exordium: "Brethren and sisters, Jonah was puked out of the whale to go and preach to the people of Ninevah, and I have just been puked out of Missouri to preach to you-uns!"

Embryo Villages

    There are numerous sites of former villages in Monroe County, which, like Goldsmith's "Sweet Auburn," have vanished, save now and then a garden flower to mark the spot "where once the garden smiled." In the spring and summer of 1856 immigration was at its flood-tide. In every neighborhood a village was laid out, the interests of which were

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boomed by the projector of the town. There were no railroads in the county at that time, and no one locality had any advantage over its rival in the matter of location. In time, however, most of these hamlets died down from the effect of the natural law of a survival of the fittest.

    In the summer of 1856 the village of Fairview, or cuba, as it was subsequently named, was laid out in Mantua Township. The place exists to-day only in name, and is a few miles east of the town of Avery. At one time it was a promising village, but the C., B. & Q. Railroad passed north of it, and the town of Avery killed it.

    Eldorado, in Cedar Township, was also started and looked promising on paper. It boasted two houses.

    Smithsfield and Hollidaysburg were also candidates for municipial [municipal] greatness, but soon shared a like fate.

    Pleasant Corners, in Pleasant Township, situated about a mile north of the present village of Frederic, was once a lively village. It had a store, blacksmith shop, and a "Seceder" church. To-day it is one of the loveliest spots in the county, but it has ceased to be a village.

    Urbana City was started about the same time. It was once a flourishing village, and was the seat of Soap Creek civilization and commerce. It contained a flouring mill, school-house, blacksmith shop, two stores, a shingle-splitter, and a saloon. To-day it is a corn-field.

    Along about the year 1890, Frank Fritchle laid out the town of Minerstown, a half-mile west of the present town of Foster, in Monroe Township. The town was regularly surveyed and platted, and was intended as a rival of Foster, just starting. There was but one house erected in the town, but the streets and avenues remain on paper, and are well preserved.

    Selection is a post-office five miles south of Albia on the Centerville, Moravia & Albia Railway. Some years ago it boasted of a water-tank and general store, but it never grew, and while there is still a store at the place, the tank has been removed, and the railway station building has been locked up for years, there being no agent at the place.

The "Water-Witch."

    Necessity is said to be the mother of invention, and as water is one of the necessities of life, it may also be stated

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that it is the maternal relative to the "water-witch." If this mystical personage may also be permitted to claim a paternal progenitor, we will say that Ignorance is the father of the "water-witch." When the country was new, water, as we have already stated, was often scarce, or difficult to locate in veins in the earth. Then, like a Moses smiting the rock with his rod, the "water-witch" arose with his "divining-rod," to tell people where to dig. Professors of this occult science usually selected some fruit-bearing twig—a forked switch, each prong a foot or more in length. He grasped each prong in the hand and walked around with the switch pointing in front. In passing immediately over a spring in the earth the stick would point downward, according to popular belief. The switch, in the hands of a right good "witch," would be so persistent in its efforts to point downward that it is claimed that in grasping it tightly the "witch's" grip would sometimes rub off the bark from the twig, or even break it. A good "witch" could always tell how far down the water might be found. The "divining-rod" was a little capricious in its action. It would not point down if actually held over a pond of water, or water in plain view. It was a way it had of doing, and the witch did not make any efforts to explain the seeming contradictory phenomenon.

Schools and School-Teachers