CHAPTER XX

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SOME EARLY EXPERIENCES

    The following account of some of the experiences of the pioneers of Montgomery County, told in their own language, is quoted from various sources. One of the earliest settlers in this section was H. C. Binns, who located just across the line in Page County in 1854. He originally came from Pennsylvania.

COULDN'T BUY A STAMP

    "In those days," remarked Mr. Binns, "we didn't get many letters and when one did come it wasn't certain we could get it from the postoffice. I remember one time that a letter came for my brother with six and one-half cents postage due. In our family of eleven we couldn't scrape together enough to pay the postage, and what was worse, our neighbors couldn't help us out. Finally, Mrs. Nellie Stafford, who lived a number of miles away, and, by the way, she was the first white woman in the county, heard of our predicament and sent us the money.

    "How did I get here? Well, I walked from Glenwood. When I reached the 'Botna I could find no means of crossing, so I took off my clothes, tied them in a bundle and fastened them in the fork of a bough and put my money in my boots which I hung 'round my neck. Then I swam across the stream carrying my clothes before me, and was nearly eaten up by the mosquitoes.

CROWDED QUARTERS.

    "During the winter of '56 and '57, our entire family of eleven, and one boarder, lived in a house 16x18. You remember that was the year of the great storm, when so many people

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suffered and hundreds of deer and other wild animals perished. Just before the storm came on we ran out of meal. All our neighbors were in the same boat, and for six weeks we ground corn in the coffee mill for the whole family, rather than go to mill, which would have required five days to go and come. The storm began December 1, 1856, and it snowed furiously for three days. After that it snowed at short intervals until it lay four feet deep in the timber, and on the 10th of May following, some of the snow was still lying in sheltered places.

A $40 PAIR OF BOOTS

    "We were pretty homesick the next year," said Mr. Binns, "and I believe if we had decent clothes we would have left the country. As it was, our clothing was patched so that the original garments could scarcely be recognized, and we all went barefoot regardless of rattlesnakes. Boots were not to be had for a song in those days. A brother of mine traded forty bushels of corn to C. H. Lane for a pair of coarse stogas. Lane made a good thing out of the deal, too, for the next year the war broke out and he sold the corn for one dollar per bushel, making the boots worth forty dollars. We used afterwards to speak of Robert's forty dollar boots. Tom Weidman helped haul the corn to the Missouri river."

   Mr. Binns tells of a trip he took to Council Bluffs to buy eight acres of land:

    "We had saved just an even $100, and several of us started to enter the land. We were supplied with horse feed and lunch enough to last the entire trip, for we had no money to buy meals. While camping out on the way to the "Bluffs," one of the boys carelessly put the lunch box where the horses could get at it, and when we were ready to start our lunch, what hadn't been eaten by the horses, was unfit for food. Throwing the fragments away, we proceeded, made our purchase and returned. For almost two days we went without eating, and finally, nearly famished, we stopped at a house

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where the people were better known for their filth than anything else. We were invited to dinner and concluded to shut our eyes and trust in Providence. Although the meat was kept on the floor under the bed, and everything else just as filthy, I don't think I ever ate a meal that tasted so good.

PORK AT ONE-HALF CENT PER POUND

    "Talk about hard times now! Why, we are living amid luxurious abundance to what the people had in those days. For years no land was sold for taxes. There wasn't anyone to buy." Mr. Binns said that for eighteen months his total cash on hand amounted to just thirty-five cents. "One time I needed some money very badly, so I loaded up a lot of pork and started out to sell it. I first went to Sidney, from there to Hamburg, and from there to Nebraska City, and then back to Hamburg. By this time my meat was in such a condition that it was liable to spoil on my hands. There was a small store at Hamburg, the principal stock of which was a quantity of liquor in the back room, the few articles on the shelves being a mere blind for the more profitable business of selling liquor. To the proprietor of this place I sold my pork for about fifty cents per hundred pounds and took it out in trade, and after I had all my purchases you could have bought the lot for five dollars. My brother Charles hired a man for one dollar a day to haul wheat to St. Joe, and when he got back the proceeds came within an even dollar of paying the hired man.

A REVIVALIST CALLED DOWN BY HIS WIFE.

    "We didn't always have an opportunity to hear religious services, and when a meeting was announced, we weren't sure the sermon would be preached," said the same speaker, "Along in '59 or '60 arrangements were made to hold a protracted meeting at a schoolhouse near the edge of Montgomery County. The exhorter opened the services and got up to begin preaching. He fidgeted about for some time and finally said: 'I can't

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preach today, my wife has lost my references.' And there is where he made his mistake. The lady referred to got up and called her husband a liar and the quarrel that followed broke up the meeting.

AN EIGHT DAY JOURNEY TO MILL

    "We enjoyed life in those days even if we did suffer privation," said Mr. Binns, "but there was one time things looked very gloomy. I had been here about two years and had run out of money. Borrowed fifty dollars of Stephen Davis, paying forty per cent interest. Went to Linden, forty miles away, and bought some corn, paying one dollar and a half per bushel; hauled it to Rockport, Mo., to get it ground, but the water was so low they couldn't grind. Went twenty miles farther and found a mill. Had to stay all night and left the meal in the mill. During the night a rain storm came up and my meal got wet and on my way home I found it was spoiled. I was gone eight days on this trip, but we lived somehow."

    Thos. Weidman came from Pennsylvania and walked to this county from St. Joe—secured a farm, married a wife, raised a family and accumulated a competence here. He has figured in politics, having represented the county in the State Legislature. He tells an amusing story of how he fell from grace—got into politics: "Squire Hewitt was a justice of the peace in Red Oak and he wanted a justice elected in another part of the township so there wouldn't be anyone to divide the business in the village with him. He got me elected to the office, but I wouldn't qualify. ONe day he said, 'Tom, if you will qualify as justice of the peace, I'll give you your choice out of that litter of pups.' W. W. Merritt also insisted, and before I knew exactly what was being done I was a full-fledged J. P. I got the pup, though. But the whole thing turned out badly; I didn't get out of politics for years and that pup got into a woman's churn, drank her cream, and I always blamed her for tying the dog to a wagon and allowing him to be taken away."

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NO LAWYERS, DOCTORS OR MERCHANTS.

    Mr. Weidman got married on the 4th of July, 1861, and at that time there wasn't a merchant, a doctor or lawyer in the county. C. H. Lane closed up his business after Mr. Weidman bought his household goods to set up housekeeping. The whole thing amounted to less than ten dollars. Everybody agreed that they got along splendidly without the doctor and lawyer, and they didn't need much store goods. What few groceries and the like they needed were brought from Council Bluffs, Glenwood and Sidney.

    Mr. Lane came back several years later and again opened a store in Red Oak. Mr. Weidman was greatly in need of a hat and when one of his cows died he took the hide to Lane's and traded it for a hat. His neighbor, Mr. A. Milner, wanted to know how he got it. Upon being told, he remarked that he would have also, the first time a cow died. Sure enough, he lost a cow shortly afterwards, and the hide furnished him with a new hat.

    Another of Mr. Weidman's recollections, quoted from a communication addressed to the Red Oak Express a few years ago, told of one of the early courts where business was done quickly. He says:

    "Perhaps the readers of The Express would like to know how court ran in this county forty years ago. In the spring of 1862 I was summoned to appear at the county seat, then Frankfort, to serve as a grand juror. I walked from the southwest corner of Grant township on the divide, or ridge, over the prairie to Frankfort. Not a field or fence to cross—arrived and reported at the schoolhouse where the court was held.

    "W. W. Merritt was clerk of court, and in this case, the whole thing—for he called, 'Hear Ye! Hear Ye! The HOnorable District Court of Montgomery County is now in session. Please come to order. The jurors will answer as their names are called. After answering please come forward and sign

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the jury book.' Having all signed, the clerk calls, 'Hear Ye! Hear Ye! Hear Ye! There being no further business, the court is adjourned until next regular session.' "

THEODORE WHITNEY'S BOOTS.

    Some amusing stories were told about Theodore Whitney, one of the early settlers, who was noted for his great size, particularly the size of his feet. It is said that Sol Stout once went to St. Joe to buy goods and saw an exaggerated pair of boots hanging up just for a sign. When he tried to buy them the merchant thought he was crazy, but he took them along just the same and sold them to Whitney, and they proved to be a perfect fit. Whitney used to get "roasted" a great deal about his feet and they came to be a tender subject with him. He was once made the victim of a vile practical joke. He always left his boots on the porch, and one night the boys stole them and raided a watermelon patch, after which they returned the boots to their place. The next morning the owner of the patch discovered that some of his melons were missing and at the same time found foot prints that could have been made by no other boots than Whitney's. When accused of the theft he of course indignantly denied the charge, but upon being confronted with his own tracks he was confounded. He scratched his head in a puzzled sort of way and finally said, "Yes, them's my tracks," and putting his hand into his pocket, "how much is the damage?"

HOW THEY THRESHED THEIR GRAIN

    Ephriam Miller owned the only machine in the county that year. He threshed for Joe Chenoweth, then moved to Adams county where he did a job for Judge Bennett; then went to Quincy, and from there to Jim Whitney's near Sciola. Jim had a machine of his own but it was up north in the next county. He then moved over to Page county and threshed for Major Cramer. In those days they charged eight cents per bushel for

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wheat and four for oats, though some charged as much as ten for wheat. Thomas Weidman used to thresh his wheat in the primitive way—treading it out with horses.

THEIR NAMES WERE AGAINST THEM.

    Some odd situations arose on account of peculiar names. It is said that C. H. Lane one time had some trouble in getting a consignment of merchandise on account of the odd names of his teamsters. He sent three men, with teams, to Council Bluffs for goods. When the first one arrived at the ware house the agent asked for his name and business. "I came for some goods for C. H. Lane, of Red Oak, and my name is Hawk," he replied. Number two came in just then and announced his business. "What is your name?" asked the agent. "Crow," was the reply. Number three appeared on the scene at this moment, and said he had come for a load of goods for Lane. When the agent learned that the last man's name was Buzzard, that settled it; he wouldn't let have the goods at all, and they returned empty-handed.

YOUTHFUL AGE OF MONTGOMERY COUNTY.

    Its romantic period must be slightly noticed by reproducing sketches picked up here and there, recalling persons and incidents of the former time, in the light and spirit of that time, in giving them an animus that bare recitals cannot give. Humor and exaggeration themselves, when undisguised, are suggestive, and convey no little information after the manner of pictures. The "Frankfort Lyceum Budge" furnishes the following:

    "This winter has been one of unusual gaiety to the fashionable circles of Frankfort, Montgomery's capital, one gay party succeeding another in rapid succession. As there has been no notice of a delightful party at Mr. and Mrs. Shafer's in The Budget, I will say everything went off in the most agreeable manner, in fact it has not been surpassed in brilliancy by any festive occasion of the season. All the elite of the city were there.

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It would have been a great disappointment, not to say mortification, not to have been among the invited guests. Indeed the whole affair was an eminent success.

    "On Friday evening, February fourteenth, was not seen, as was expected, a sleigh load of people issuing forth towards Red Oak. The weather not being propitious it was concluded not to issue forth, well knowing it would be very much like sitting in a rocking chair at the northwest corner of the house with our feet immersed in a tub of cold water. Sleigh-riding in cold weather has been compared to that situation.

    "Well, as I was saying, the bon ton of Frankfort did not issue forth, but in lieu thereof they were invited to another delightful entertainment at the "Castle of Montgomery," the residence of Dr. and Mrs. Sperry. This, too, was another splendid affair. But I will not exhaust superlative terms in describing it. I should not, however, do justice to the occasion if I did not mention the presence of St. Valentine.

    "Why he was called a saint I never could see, being very different from any saint that I have ever been acquainted with. The saints that I have known have been sedate, sober, devout people; whereas St. Valentine is very merry and funny, and, if I must tell the truth, I think him often quite a silly saint. But there is one thing in his favor, he seems to love everybody, and what makes him seem silly, is, he claims the right to tell them so upon his day. I suppose why it seems silly to us is, we are very apt to doubt the sincerity of that love that is too outspoken. The real genuine article is suppose to be shy and reserved. However, we will not find fault with St. Valentine, and he means well, and has contributed a little to our amusement. (Fictitious Signature.)"

    The writer was not neglected in this early journalism, and in a poetical effusion this couplet appears, alluding to the general mode of locomotion in the good old days:

"Those thrilling tones, Oh, who can hear
As you press on each lagging steer."

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    As an example of the good humored sarcasm that enlivened the columns of the Budget, the following is worthy of inclusion in this book, even though the joke was on the author:

    "In the Valentine of William we have information or an intimation of the carriage outfit of our old-time friend and new-time friend, Mr. Merritt. He was the first among us to keep a carriage. I think the reason for it must be that he 'despised' walking on the slippery grass over the prairie. The cattle that he rode out with were the same that he hauled wood and plowed with, as he was too penurious to keep two teams. There's no doubt of it. Those who are acquainted with cattle know that they require considerable encouragement from the voice urging them on and keeping up their ambition, which makes traveling with them a rather lively and interesting business, accompanied with music.

    "As I was speaking about the penuriousness of a friend, I don't want to say anything against a friend without proving it. ONe winter he undertook to supply Frankfort with wood, as he had both the wood, and the cattle to haul it, and he had the face to take 75 cents a cord from those poor woodless people of Frankfort, nor could they get a stick from him for less than that rate. I think that proves that he must know something about getting up 'corners.' I think he tried to deceive us, too by calling it 'prairie wood'."

    The last is an unkind remark, for be it known that it was not uncommon to get wood where most convenient, and oblivious of the government survey. To the inquisitive inquiry, "Where did you get that wood?" the reply would be, "Oh, out on the prairie."