CHAPTER III

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    To one familiar with Nature in her bold and rugged forms only, her rock ribbed and wooded hills, her majestic mountains and roaring cataracts, the first view of a prairie was a scene of strange and surpassing loveliness. Before it was upturned by the plow and dotted here and there with artificial groves and human habitations, its appearance, when swept by the fresh summer breezes, was not unlike the ocean when billow after billow is seen in every direction, bounded only by the horizon. Well has the poet described it:

"These, the garden of the deserts~~these
The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful
                        Lo! They stretch
In airy undulations, far away,
As though the ocean, in the gentlest swell,
Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed,
And motionless forever."

    This similarity might have been noticed still further as one listened to the gentle sounds always heard when there was nothing distracting, not unlike the murmuring sea, and caused by the constant breeze passing over the bending grasses.

    The onward march of eager enterprise and progress drowns Nature's voice and dulls the ear to her whisperings. It was on the prairie that Providence bestowed in fullest measure whatever charms inhere in solitude. The succession of the seasons brought changes to the entrancing view. The green of Spring and Summer merged into the brown of Autumn and then into

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the white of Winter, when the grasses were hidden away in the embrace of the snow, awaiting the sunshine and rain to be quickened into life again. When Springtime returned, the velvet grasses covered the landscape with a carpet of green as even and beautiful as a new mown lawn, and the succession of the seasons began anew. And who shall tell of the beauty of the prairie wild flowers~~how they fairly flamed in the glory of the summer months,~~the purple phlox, the graceful lily and a thousand others now rare indeed.

    It seemed almost a sacrilege to mar such a picture. We of the present day can hardly realize that prior to the year 1865 the uplands of Montgomery County had never been scarred by the plow.

    Had there been an elevated look from the center of each of the twelve townships of this county, one could not have seen any part that was under cultivation. There was nothing to obstruct the view or to hinder the ravages of the fierce fires that swept yearly over the prairies, and whose dull red glow against the horizon became the terror of the pioneer. Few, indeed, were so incautious as to make no preparation against them. The method of protection generally employed was to plow a few furrows around the habitation and to build "back fires," starting from some trodden path or road and burning the grass slowly against the wind, thus placing a burned strip between the pioneer's home and the oncoming flame. These fires were almost continuous during the entire dry season and the flames could often be seen at night at a great distance, reflected on the sky. They left in their blackened path, ashes which were taken up and hurled in clouds by the high winds which generally prevailed in connection with fires. This often continued for many days after great areas had been denuded of grass in this and surrounding counties. The smoke and dust at such times were of such density as to partially obscure the sun for many days. Constant tilling of the soil and timber culture have no doubt brought

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about some climatic changes, and different weather conditions prevail at the present day. Generally, the sky, bending over the prairies, was clear, but when the clouds gathered, they cast their shadows in great, fantastic shapes which chased one another over hill and valley, strong in contrast of light and shade and not unpleasing to behold. These prairies had been sunkissed and storm swept for thousands of years and through the might agencies of fire, earthquake, flood and electricity, had been prepared for the abode, first of primitive, then of civilized man, and we were distinguished indeed who were permitted by Providence to be the first occupants, the pioneers who turned into fields of golden grain the splendid wastes of this virgin soil. And the love of freedom was deep indeed in the hearts of the pioneers, for a broad, new land is the best home for liberty. The atmosphere was ever the freshest on the prairies. Every movement of humanity has taught greater freedom. Untrammeled people, possessing unlimited room, never have taken kindly to arbitrary rules. The wide expanse of earth and sky expands the mind and heart, and broadens the whole man. Stephen A. Douglas, though a native of Vermont, said, after a visit to the prairies, "I found my mind liberalized and my opinions enlarged when I got out on these broad prairies with only the heavens to bound my vision instead of having it circumscribed by the narrow ridges that surround valleys where I was born." It had a tendency to free men from traditions and to make them plain, common, unpretentious and genuine. Freedom from old restraints gave zest to life, and the pioneers were ready to carve out their career in their own way, guided by morality, truth and duty.

    Through the fertile valleys of the prairies, the principal streams of our county flowed sluggishly, often impeded by the rank water grasses and their borders fringed by willows and cottonwoods. Only one stream in the county was navigable in any degree and that with row boats only, but all were fordable in many places. In dry weather, even the largest of the streams dwindled to a

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rivulet, but swollen by the spring and summer rains, they often became raging torrents a mile or more in width. Years ago, before the iron and stone piers which now support our bridges were in use, these streams were forded. The Indian, true to his instinct, had found the shallow crossing places and they were appropriated and used by the white man afterwards. The Nishnabotna and the Nodaway, like their distinguished relative, the great Missouri, into which they flow, were muddy, sullen and treacherous, offering a fording place to the unwary settler one day and drowning both him and his team at the same crossing the next. They were full of "step offs" and shifting sands and it was no uncommon thing to find the water varying fifteen feet in depth in the short distance of a rod or two.

    While no game fish are found in these waters, they abound with such members of the finny tribe as channel-cat, buffalo and carp, and afford at least an excuse for a day's recreation to the enthusiastic angler. It must not be thought by the non-resident reader that these streams are devoid of beauty, for their banks are garnished with tall elms and carpeted with velvety blue grass. Farther back are green pastures and fertile fields. One would indeed by hard to please who could find nothing beautiful almost any May day along the rivers of Montgomery County. Beds of violets, springing up from a carpet of green, stately trees, struggling in the grasp of of twining vines; chattering squirrels and merry birds help to make up a scene that is not outrivaled for loveliness by any gorge where the Colorado wends its way. Both are picturesque and only different in the style of beauty.

    Here and there along these waters may be seen moss covered piles of stone, relics of the old time mill dams. At other places the industrious beaver has at one time plied his trade until interrupted in his work by the greed of some trapper. Again, a huge rock, which geologists tell us came from the stormy North in the long ago, will be seen rearing its head in the middle of a channel as if inviting battle but only serving as a loafing place for sleepy turtles.

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    The resourceful and inventive white man harnessed these waters to mill wheels and for years the lumber and flour mills were operated by this power. There was something about the old mill,~~its clattering water wheel, its dam, with the calm stretch of waters above and the whirling torrent below it; the pleasant nooks for the fishermen in its vicinity, the moments passed in gossip among the country people who gathered there,~~that made life seem brighter than in the modern way of trading a quantity of wheat for a quantity of flour. Romance no longer lingers about a mill where power is supplied by steam or electricity and where the transaction is purely business. It is the difference between the morning rays of the sun and the yellow gleam of a kerosene lamp; the difference between a Christmas dinner at the farm and one purchased at a fashionable cafe.

    No prospectus was ever complete, thirty or forty years ago, which did not have a picture near the title page of a small boy riding his horse to mill, with the grist thrown across the horse's shoulders and the miller standing in the door, waiting to assist the youthful farmer. Milling was the principal manufacturing industry in the county at that early time and the people then took as much pride in the old mills as they did when the railroad later brought strange engines with pulleys and belts to do the work. Of all the pioneer industries, the old mill has been the last to give up to inventive genius. The old harrow, made of a felled tree, has given way to one made of steel with sharp teeth set at any angle desired, and upon the new machine, the farmer may ride if he chooses. The old democrat wagon, for years the Sunday vehicle of the family, has been supplanted by the four-wheeled, rubber-tired carriage. The stone churn is replaced by one propelled by a sniffing gasoline engine. Water is pumped by the same power, and the whole farm may be operated from a central telephone station. But the old watermill still remains and can be found doing business in at least three places in the county.

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    Mills located on the Nishnabotna River were: Stover's Mill, (now not in use) a mile south of Red Oak; the old Wheeler Mill, (originally built in 1859 and recently burned to the ground, but at this writing being rebuilt,) two miles north of Red Oak; the Keys Mill, near Stennett, swept away by a flood July 4, 1858, and never rebuilt; and the Watson Mill, a short distance north of that place. Upon the Nodaway there was a mill near the old town of Arlington; one at Morton's Mill, farther north and the old Smith Mill, at Milford or Grant. There was only one mill on Walnut Creek, located at Climax, and one at Red Oak, located near Eighth and Market streets on Red Oak Creek. This list does not include the earliest mills propelled by steam power, like the Hendrie Mill at Red Oak and a portable saw mill which is operated at Sciola.