CHAPTER XI.

HOME AND FIELD OCCUPATIONS.

One may, in detailing the events of history, cut from the record with the stroke of a pen a few years of colorless existence but pioneers were not so fortunate in disposing of time. The days were twenty-four hours long and no member of our household ever was idle for an extended time, except when asleep or sick.

It may be supposed, and with reason, that the continual sameness and primitive methods of labor would occasionally grow monotonous-not to say tiresome-but I do not remember ever to have heard a word of complaint or censure for our condition or surroundings.

The periodical house-cleaning seasons which have been the despair of the twentieth century benedict caused us little concern. The loom and beds were knocked down and with spinning-wheels, bedding, barrels, benches, etc., were carried into the yard. The puncheon floor was flushed and scrubbed; bedsteads and cordage scalded, bedding washed, ticks refilled with hay; everything replaced the same day --and presto! the trick was turned. The present-day delay of waiting for plumbers, painters or decorators we escaped. Owning little of the world's goods frequently may have its compensations.

There were, along with our necessary duties, many recreations to balance the account. At all seasons there were gatherings galore for the purpose of improvement and such working-bees invariably ended with an evening dancing party or taffy-pull.

There were many fall and spring enterprises in which the whole family were interested and in which many of them participated. Bee-tree hunting sometimes was haz-

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ardous but yielded a bountiful supply of wild-honey. The picking of wild berries, plums and crab-apples was a pleasing pastime and added to the winter's store of food. The gathering of quantities of the various kinds of edible nuts furnished the motive for many Indian summer outings. The early spring work in our sugar-bush was anticipated with pleasure by old and young, and the grinding of cane for sorghum was classed as play instead of work.

Children on mischief bent often armed themselves with squirt-guns made from pithless elder or sumac and finished with a perforated plug and a plunger. When filled with water and discharged unexpectedly into the face of a passing victim the occasion was furnished for a scrimmage or a sprinting match. Such diversion, however, was not practiced with the expectation of escaping the work in hand; it was an expression of exuberant spirits and overflowing energy.

The Indian boys had nothing on our youngsters in the work of gorgeous personal decoration. Berry and nutting expeditions were favorable for experimentation in color schemes. The red and purple berries, the brown and black nut-hull stains were lavishly applied to the face, arms and legs in most grotesque designs. Walnut-hulling season was not entirely welcomed by the young men and young women, for handling the great juicy globes and stamping the pulpy hulls from the nuts rendered the bare hands and bare heels of the workers the shaded yellow, brown or black color which remained on the skin for weeks and indicated the extent of work done by the huller.

Pounding off the hulls did not always exempt one from the coloring process for the spurting juice spattered the face and arms and give the appearance of large, round or irregular freckles. We did not think of protecting the hands with mittens; anyway, hand-covering would have lessened efficient, rapid work. Nor could we wait for hulls to dry before removing them. The shake roof sagged with its weight of drying nuts, but as those on the roof represented but a small proportion of the full supply it was.

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necessary to reduce the bulk as much as possible; this often was done before leaving the nut-patch.

The walnut, butternut, hickory-nut and hazelnut were much larger than they are today. They were not gathered until ripe and the stock did not become stale and dry. Everyone was consumed during the winter.

Nature's Text-Book.

The natural danger from animals, insects and reptiles which might be threatened in all field and forest trips developed an acuteness of vision and hearing which rarely is acquired except through contact with the actual need for vigilance. Our text-book on nature was: The great out of doors, and the lessons were profitable and not at all unpleasant.

Youngsters were warned to scrutinize with care the wood-pile, brush-heaps and grass tufts as well as the sunny knolls and marshy places; this we did before venturing on or among them. We were instructed to be alert, vigilant, active; to listen and look for the bee, birds or other field-game; to note the peculiar call or cry and observe the habits of small forest-varmints, as well as to heed the movements and warning hiss of the many kinds of snakes.

Observation soon taught us to know from the location, material and construction of a nest, to what kind of wild fowl or ground-nesting bird it belonged. The tree-nesters' homes also were familiar to us. John Thomas could imitate almost any bird-call and was so in love with the friendly flyers he declared he saw and heard them in his sleep.

We knew the sections which yielded the best strawberries, blackberries and gooseberries, and where hazelnuts grew in greatest profusion. We knew the trees from seedling to sapling and to the forest giant, and climbed the grapevine which decorated the branches. We gathered sumac-berries for coloring and brought home elderberries and spiles. We tramped through underbrush, and across

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clearings, and walked or hitched along on rail fences for long distances to avoid too close association with snakes.

Prudent but Fearless.

We were obediently cautious but absolutely unafraid. We imagined that human judgment and skill were superior to animal sagacity. Perhaps the old apothegm: "Those who know nothing, fear nothing," might apply here, for the cry of the catamount or the night howl of the wolf bothered us not at all. An evening pastime for the children was to count the fiery eyes of these creatures as they gleamed upon us from the brush-thickets adjacent to the cabin.

The fact that young stock frequently was destroyed by wolves did not--to my knowledge-raise the question of a child's danger from the same source. We had received instructions and the warning admonition from our parents and were expected to circumvent the creatures or avoid the danger.

One thing, however, was in our favor. Wild animals or snakes are not aggressive unless disturbed, or attacked, or except when fear is shown or effort made to escape. If a forest varmint was sighted while the children were at play they did not scamper home screaming. On the contrary, the playing was continued and a close watch kept on the intruder. When the fastest runner could slip away unnoticed he took to his heels and reported the circumstances to the hunters who usually succeeded in killing the creature.

Pets.

Seeking for nests of wild-fowl was an every day spring pastime. It was a great source of pleasure for pioneer children to be permitted to make pets of the fowl nestlings, cubs or fawns that were taken by the hunters and brought home captive. Goslings and ducklings were my especial favorites.

Many early settlers had pet sand-hill cranes and some

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of these were none too agreeable with strangers. A child who showed fear of the long-legged, long-billed bird promptly was attacked or chased about the premises.

Wild turkeys, prairie-chicks, quails and pheasants were the most beautiful and cunning little folk of field and forest that one can imagine, but they were not susceptible to the blandishments of boys and girls. The eggs often were hatched at home and the baby chicks carefully handled but within a few weeks they invariably returned to their wild, free life.

We captured several swans the second season after our arrival but they did not thrive in captivity or increase in numbers.

Eagles were quite numerous during the early years but we did not seek their extermination. The boys, however, took a few shots at the embodiment of the national emblem, wholly from curiosity as a nature study. A half-grown bald eagle with a broken wing was brought home one day and given to me. "Baldy" was morose and not a tractable pet. He grew to an unusual size and his plumage of natural colors was most beautifully marked. He was quarrelsome with domestic fowls and finally was killed in a fight with a turkey buzzard which one day invaded the premises.

When our hunters or trappers killed a mother wolf they often brought home the coyote cubs. The pretty little wolflings usually were kept as pets until they yielded to the call of the wild and escaped, or until they were put to death for some depredation.

Coons were so numerous and so easily domesticated that little effort was necessary to tame them. They were playful, cunning and very mischievous. While young they performed the most amusing tricks but as they grew older -although well fed-a periodical raid upon the pet-fowls' roosting-place was made in spite of all precautions.

We did not attempt to tame beaver, otter or other water animals.

Very young deer-fawns or elk-calves are, perhaps, as beautiful and docile pets as can be found among wild crea-

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tures, but they frequently become offensively familiar and rough when older.

We tamed and raised many fawns. For several years after game became scarce we kept a male and female deer. They were allowed to browse and pasture with the cattle but the stag horned the critters, and threw down the rail-fences with his antlers. Their presence seemed to stimulate the breachy proclivities of the cattle; so, a paling inclosure of shakes about eight feet high was built for the deer. The creatures, however, were so restless that they finally were allowed to run at large.

The periods for shedding antlers were times of seclusion. The stag did not return after one such vacation. The doe was more restless than ever. She wandered about and continuously called for her mate. One morning at daybreak Uncle Peter Lyon discovered "Polly" in his stable-yard. Mistaking her for a wild animal, he shot her. When it was found that she bore our brand we were notified, and Uncle Peter expressed great regret for the killing.

Wild Fowl.

There was such an abundance of wild fowl-geese, ducks, partridges and prairie chickens that in dressing them we saved only the breasts. Quail we did not kill; and if caught in the traps or deadfalls prepared for other game they were released. We did not consider rabbit, squirrel or opossum worth the expenditure of ammunition. The pelts were valueless and there was a perennial supply of bigger and better game.

Barnyard poultry, during the early years, was a disappearing quantity with us. If an old Dominick biddy succeeded in bring off her brood the hawks, buzzards, weasles, minks, skunks and various other varmints made life uncomfortable for them as well as for their caretakers.

Poultry production cost us absolutely nothing. The fowls roosted in the stable or trees; they wandered, and scratched, and foraged far and near; they hid their nests

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and brooded unattended and undisturbed by us. Domestic fowls that came to our yard to roost were claimed by us; any number that sought our neighbors' barnyards belonged to them. Eggs and poultry were unsalable, and therefore, claims of ownership were not considered or contested.

The early part of the season our hunters supplied us with eggs for the table from the nests of wild turkeys and geese. After a fowl hunt father regaled himself with fried eggs cooked over the coals on the bright, steel fire shovel. Brooding water-fowl frequently were brought home to us where they hatched their young. Wings were clipped to discourage flight but in the autumn the natural desire to migrate possessed them, and unless killed for food or confined for the purpose of replenishing feather beds, they made their way southward despite the defective aerial appendages.

Flowers.

It was unnecessary for us to cultivate a flower garden in the early '50's. The prairies were flecked with wild bright colored blossoms and the woods were redolent with perfume from budding-time until the frosts of fall. There were the crowfoot anemone, bloodroot, fly-flowers, pitcher plant, marsh marigold, bluebells, sweet Williams, woodbine honeysuckle, columbines, flags, pond-lilies, spatterdock, Indian turnip and ferns in luxuriant and varied profusion; and the May flower, wild rose, grapevine, plum, cherry, crabapple, elderberry, thornapple and basswood trees in their season made the air heavy with fragrance and furnished a rich supply of nectar for the bees.

Cattle not only grazed upon the succulent grasses but almost half the cured hay supply was composed of the white and purple-pink sweet Williams, while buttercups, sorrels, mints, lilies, bull or button-weed and daisies in many varieties helped to stock the manger. The prairie gum-weed or rosin plant furnished the family with chewing gum and the "cud" 'was passed promiscuously among the children.

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When home flower gardens were cultivated the hollyhock, marigold, saffron, "pretty-by-night"--four o'clock; and touch-me-not-so called because the ripe seed-pods burst open at the touch--were the general standbys.

The buttonhole bouquet was not in vogue during the early years but many men, both young and old, wore flowers on their hats and the girls relieved the plainness of hair dressing with a seasonable blossom.

It was said of the brake-a species of fern-that:

"If you break the first brake, and kill the first snake, You'll do everything that you undertake."

I suppose as long as flowers fleck the fields and daisies deck the dooryards young people will seek to know the personal preferences of their associates. The flowers will be named for one of the opposite sex, and the leaves, one by one, loosened with the monotoned chant-"He loves me, he loves me not." Young women seemed to accept the dictum of petal pulling as absolute, but the appearance of the young man in question with the assurance that the daisy had falsified the record of his heart, changed the outlook then, undoubtedly, as it does today.

The same method was followed in the naming of seeded vegetables or fruit, and the following list was gone through: "One I love; two I love; three I love, they say; four I love with all my heart; five I cast away; six she loves; seven he loves; eight they both love; nine he comes; ten he tarries; eleven he courts; twelve he marries." When it was decided that one was to marry, it was natural to wish to know if the man were to be a "richman, poorman, beggarman, thief, doctor, lawyer, merchant or chief," and this was decided by listing the buttons on one's dress. Finally, the choice of a color for the bride's wedding dress was important, and was chosen from this list: "Married in white, you'll quarrel and fight; married in black, you'll wish yourself back; married in red, you'll wish yourself dead; married in green, you'll live like a queen; married in brown, you'll live in a town; married in blue, you'll always be true; married in grey, you never will stay; married in

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pink, you'll live with a slink." As ill luck seemed to follow the larger list of colors I exercised my personal preference and was married in white.

Honey.

I do not think through all the early years we ever were without wild-honey. The method of locating a bee-tree was to smear the smooth surface of a stump with honey and start a bee-bread smudge. The bees attracted by the odor would come to feast on the sweetness. Laden with honey they would circle upward above the trees and take a beeline to their storehouse. The hunters followed the course of the burdened insects until the honeyed habitation was located.

The bees were smoked from their shelter with sulphur, the tree chopped down and the honey brought home. We considered a few bee-stings of little more consequence than mosquito bites. Bee-trees often were located and marked in summer. Later, when the swarm was dormant, the trees were cut and carted away. The industrious insects then could work for us at the home apiary.

Sections of hollow logs were provided for their storehouse and we allowed the bees to design their own interior decoration. "Survival of the fittest" was our bee manual, and if a swarm died we procured another from the woods.

Talman Wiltsey was the pioneer breeder of bees. He supplied honey to the settlers and swarms to anyone who wished to invest in bee-stock. He did not isolate his bees, and unfortunately, lost a horse as a result of bee-stings.

The animal had strayed into the bee-yard to graze, and upset a bee-hive. The irate swarm attacked the horse. Seeking to escape, another hive was overturned. The frantic beast plunged, kicked, rolled and finally ran groaning to the stable. A quilt was thrown over him and the bees crushed and scraped off. The whisky antidote immediately was administered but the colt's eyes and nostrils soon were closed with the swelling. The tender, thinly haired parts

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of the body were covered with knots of formic poisoning. The animal suffered several hours before death relieved him.

Mr. Wiltsey remained in the work of bee-culture until his death.

Jerking Venison.

Our method of jerking venison was a strictly up-to-date one. An excavation about six feet square and eighteen inches deep was prepared. Fagots were piled into the hole and fired. The wood was replenished as it burned down, and when the pit was nearly full of live coals a criss-cross rack of saplings was placed above the hot bed. The ends of the frame rested on solid ground and the lattice-work was covered with raw deer meat.

The intense heat seared and partly cooked the venison, which preserved it during the summer season. Hunks of ham sometimes fell through the frame-openings and were consumed. Occasionally the poles became ignited and unless the fire were discovered immediately the whole consignment was dropped upon the coals. A few pieces of the meat, perhaps, could be raked out before it was scorched seriously but it was very easy to loose all of it.

The smell of curing flesh always attracted the wolves, but while the fire was brilliant they did not attempt to appropriate the meat supply. They were, however, at such times more venturesome in prowling about, and the season for jerking venison was a most auspicious one for taking wolfskins.

A part of the summer's supply of meat was subjected to the slower process of smoking and a portion to the still slower process of drying.

Pigs.

A pair of small pigs was purchased as we passed through Des Moines. They became great pets before we reached our destination for they constantly were carried in the arms of some of the children during the remainder

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of the journey. A pole pen, lean-to fashion, was arranged beside the cabin door, for pig comfort, but often throughout the winter the pigs were allowed to sleep inside the house.

The following spring we purchased an old sow. She possessed a frame that easily could have carried six hundred pounds of flesh although perhaps two hundred and fifty pounds was her actual weight. A strong rail pen was built for her use until she became wonted to the place. The bodily activity and lusty lung exercise of Mrs. Porker were worthy a study in wild life. She had been removed from her porcine associates and deprived of her liberty; so, naturally, was lonesome and resentful. The enclosure was surrounded by youthful admirers and sympathizers but that did not in the least mollify her. She would charge around the pen with a Woof! Woof! Woof! which would send us scurrying away from the immediate vicinity. She then would rear on her hind legs, place her fore feet on the top rail of the pen and let out a squeal that was a fair and full substitute for the steam-whistle of today; however, as the nerves of pioneers were not frayed at both edges we did not mind the noisy disturbance.

Several extra tiers of rails were placed upon the pigpen as security against escape, but the second morning after her arrival the enclosure was empty. With dogs and guns the men folk started in pursuit of the runaway. Mrs. Hog was overhauled two or three miles from home making good time on the return trip to Des Moines; but her journey had not been without peril. She had been attacked by a shewolf and three half-grown cubs, the dead bodies of which were discovered along the trail she had taken.

We called this hog the rail-scaler. She literally would walk up the side of a ten rail pen and go over the top without misplacing a single tier; but we outgeneraled her by drawing the rails to a cone-shape and leavine; but a small opening at the apex. The children climbed the pen corners as they did the cabin corners; and we fed the hog from the top or poked feed through the cracks between rails.

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The old sow finally grew accustomed to our ministrations and became tractable if not friendly. One morning she presented us with fourteen fine, healthy pigs whereupon she was released from captivity. She raised everyone of the pigs and they, succeeded in raising everything which came in contact with their long and industrious noses.

Deer meat and wild-fowl flesh was plentiful but it was necessary for us to raise hogs to supply shortening and the grease-gravy so essential in dressing corn dodger. Woods-pastured hog-flesh was not so firm and white as the corn fed product and the lard would liquify with the application of very little heat. We did not kill one pig at a time and thus secure fresh meat at all seasons. Instead we made a regular killing and butchered the year's supply at one time--unless we miscalculated our needs. Butchering-bees were as popular in pioneer times as log-rollin's or cabin-raisin's.

My recollection of our domestic critters during the early years is: they either were bawlers, blatters or squealers. If we, however, considered the vociferous agitation at all, we thought it a chronic state of contrariness and were not aware that company, or food of the proper kind or quantity, would have satisfied them and quieted their cries.

For several years after our arrival pork, as a commercial product, was valueless; any surplus supply was distributed among the neighbors. For many years hog meat brought no more than $2.50 per hundred after being hauled to Iowa City, Dubuque or Des Moines.

Prairie Fires.

We were not afraid of Indians or wild beasts. High water and bad weather were natural difficulties to be worked through with patience and caution. A part of the season, however, we were greatly alarmed by the fire menace. The prairie grass grew so luxuriantly and the thickets of underbrush were so dense that during the fall, the possibility of prairie-fires gave us constant concern. We did not neglect the precaution of plowing and back-firing about the premises no matter what else may have been neglected.

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Prairie-fires were magnificent sights. At times they traveled far faster than a horse; and often spelled destruction to property and, death to unfortunate settlers. Sweeping with the wind, great tufts of burning grass were hurled rods ahead of the moving body of the fire. Roads did not retard, and creeks did not prevent a fire's progress in dry weather. The red reflection on the sky together with a high wind were signals for neighbors to hasten to the assistance of settlers in the danger zone.

Many times fire-fighters returned from the work with faces and hands blistered. Father's face once was so inflamed from fire rescure [rescue?] work that for days we feared he would lose his sight. The hair of Uncle Peter Lyon was closely singed in a fire fight east of town. His clothing became ignited and but for the assistance from other workers he doubtless would have been burned to death.

A man named Mills and his little son perished in a prairie fire north of Homer, in 1851; the horse being unable to carry them to safety. The following season Lew Wellington and family while on the way to our settlement were burned to death on the prairie in the southeast part of the county. The charred remains of wagon, oxen and a family of six persons were found when search was made; and but for the fact that we were expecting their arrival, their identity could not have been established. Later in the fall of 1852, two hunters, Jim Phipps and Sam Judy, were burned to death on the prairie west of Mud lake.

Fire dangers were not greatly lessened for a long time; as late as 1860 a man named Swearingen with his family of five who were emigrating from the East in a covered wagon, were overtaken by a prairie-fire south of Hamilton county and all perished in the flames.

Snakes.

All pioneers had the usual disquieting experiences with snakes. There were snake sections infested with rattlers, blue racers, bull and blacksnakes and large numbers of the

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smaller garden varieties; but the venom of none of them except the rattlesnake was considered to be dangerous.

The members of our family who were habitual hunters had the periodical spring encounter with schools of snakes. The infested districts were made the objective point for snake hunts, and literally speaking, thousands of them were killed by our men-folk during the early years.

The unusually prolific snake grounds hereabout were located on the flat and south exposure of the hill opposite the mill site and a few miles north of town at a sandy, open space on the bank of the White-Fox creek. Rock crevices were natural hiding places; the Briggs' river bank furnished many sunny ledges for their spring recreation; likewise, furrows that had been plowed for trails or paths to the neighbors' cabins and the late fall plowing which had been done for fire protection-these were sunning places and were the scenes of many successful snake hunts. During the early part of May, on warm, sunny days, snakes by the hundreds could be found warming up from the winter's rest.

The most auspicious period for snake killing was when they were emerging from winter quarters. This time also was attended with less danger to the hunter as the reptiles were too stiff to strike or to escape. Almost as effective and a less dangerous method was to locate the nests and destroy the eggs.

The best weapon with which to attack a snake was a light, tough but not too stiff stick. One well aimed blow was quite sufficient. The same skill, however, in delivering a fatal blow to a snake was as necessary as good marksmanship in hunting. The household snake implement was a hoe with a flatly turned eye, which brought the blade on a straight line with the handle. The strike was made as with a spear and Mr. Snake usually was cut in two. When a snake was finished his tail did not live until sundown as was popularly believed.

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Surrounded by Rattlesnakes.

Roll reported that on the White-Fox snake grounds he had stood at a given, point and counted twenty-five rattlesnakes in a semi-dormant state within a three rod radius. He never was snake-bitten but has been made stomach-sick from the nauseating odor which is given off from such schools of reptiles.

Two young brothers frequently were bitten by snakes while grubbing and clearing. At such times the wound was sucked to extract the poison, and as an added measure of precaution, a slippery-elm or rattlesnake-plantain poultice immediately was applied. A "horn" of spirits, an ashbark brew or a few drops of hartshorn were administered if the patient's condition seemed to require it.

Soon after his arrival one of Joe Peabody's sons, while grubbing, was bitten by a rattler. The young man was clearing the refuse from the root of a stump to facilitate his work. Simultaneously with the warning rattle the youth was struck on the back of the hand. The household remedies were applied but they were unavailing. His arm swelled to a great size and turned purple to the shoulder. This acute condition subsided and recurred periodically and the patient was taken to Des Moines for medical treatment. Joe Jr. recovered but his right arm was partially paralyzed.

Jotham Lyon, also, was dangerously ill from the effect of a rattlesnake bite. He suffered and was unable to work for many weeks. The whisky antidote was resorted to in his case, possibly with the idea that: "if a little is good, a good deal is better." Rye and Bourbon were administered early and often to the half-unconscious patient. His condition did not immediately improve so the interval between doses was shortened and the quantity of liquor increased. Joth did not die from the snake-bite or the remedy, but he was incapacitated for the summer's work.

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Size of Snakes.

Innumerable snakes killed by our men-folk were six and eight feet in length. Frequently a big bullsnake would seek to make the acquaintance of the family by crawling into the cabin; but the curiosity seekers always became victims of the well aimed blows of mother or the children armed with the hoe or broomstick. Two of our dogs were experts as snake catchers and would locate an ophidian weherever [wherever] he might be concealed about the premises. The dogs were permitted the freedom of the cabin before bedtime, during the snake running season, so they might nose out a serpent and make it safe for the family to sleep.

Dogs and cattle often were bitten by snakes but we lost no critters from that cause. The rattles from the tails of dead snakes were strung on cords as playthings for the younger children. They were, likewise, worn as pendant decorations on leathern belts and collars of the youthful nimrods who had taken them.

Mike McGonigal, one of our bachelor helpers, was desperately afraid of snakes. The proximity of reptiles made him almost as hysterically helpless as a woman. This predisposition induced his fellow-workers to perpetrate many a snaky joke on him. A large bullsnake was killed one day and placed across the narrow brush-lined pathway. All the boys were wise to the joke except Mac. They started for home single file--one of the boys ahead of the victim. When the place was reached the leader yelled: "SNAKES!" and leaped over the dead reptile. The boys in the rear also yelled. Mac screamed with fright and fell almost in a fit across the dead snake. The boys discontinued their jokes after this incident,

It often has been reported that pioneers ate snake meat either from curiosity or necessity. We, at least, were not so curious and I do not think our neighbors were. We did not eat eels, turtles, squirrel, rabbit, opossum or any of the trapped animals. Venison, wild-fowl and fish furnished our table. The scarcity of big game did not compel us to experiment with small fry.

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Cow Herding and Hunting.

One of the daily, early spring tasks which devolved upon the children was the herding of milch-cows and nursing ewes away from the rampion and wild parsnip patches.

Ramps and parsnips made an earlier and ranker growth than the other pasturage. The former-with the onion flavor-rendered the milk supply unfit for use and the latter poisoned the critters, especially the sheep. Later in the season other vegetation was preferred by the herd, and the cows then were permitted to wander at will through the thickets and sloughs. We gained little, however, from the relief of herding. Nearly every night one or two of the cattle did not come home and the "C'm boss, c'm boss," often brought no response.

Someone, perhaps two or three children then were delegated to hunt the delinquents. When they were not far away the bell or "ball" of the cow served to guide us. The lost ones frequently were found stuck in the mud somewhere on the town site. Especially was this true after the frost had gone out or flood-waters receded. The flat east of Superior street and south from Division to Ohio streets was a splendid miring-place. This location was covered with water during the season's freshets until the Chicago and Northwestern railway company constructed the track-grade along the river. .

Old settlers seem to think that more water was discharged during the early floods than at the present time. Dredging, draining and building obstructions along the river's banks changes the aspect rather than the reality. Then, we saw the waters spread out and pour over the surfaces without hindrance. We viewed a sea on all sides and imagined each recurring flood unparalleled. It has been reported that a boat was used to land at the Webster City House, at Bank and Seneca streets, the wet season of 1858, but I do not remember that condition or incident.

All summer's heat did not dry out these submerged lowlands and we knew about where we would find "stuck"

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cows. When a mired victim was located we blew three blasts on our best shrill-voiced willow-wood whistle. When an answer was received from home we awaited the arrival of help. If we received no answer a trip home was necessary to procure assistance.

Pulling Cows From Mud.

When all was in readiness a man waded in and attached a rope or log-chain about the critter's horns-an effective hitching-place for the rescue line. A mooley cow was a liability in a slough-hole but she was an asset in her inability to horn down rail fences.

The heads of flocks and herds were not closely confined for a long time. A bull, a boar or a ram might be encountered at almost any time or place. Free exercise reduced their pugnacious proclivities somewhat, but their company was not courted by unprotected women or children. We were discreetly shy of their presence except when close to sheds, fences or trees. One of our bulls was shot after he several times had chased and treed the boys. No one thought of dehorning a critter at that time although horns often were broken or crumpled by fighting or by tossing fences.

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Chapter 12