APPENDIX 1.

BIOGRAPHICAL.

Wilson Brewer was born in 1804, at Highcastle homestead on the James river in Virginia, His parents were Nathan and Marie (Wilson) Brewer.

Nathan Brewer, his wife and four children, emigrated to Henry county, Indiana, .in 1808, when the subject of this sketch was four years of age. Father frequently related an incident of the journey which was impressed upon his memory either by its vividness or from repetition by his parents.

While passing through a mountainous section of the country a storm arose and the movers camped to await the return of calm weather. A bolt of lightning struck a tree within a few feet of the covered wagon and killed the milch cow which supplied sustenance to the small children of the party. He likewise declared that his old plantation home surroundings were very clear to him.

Wilson Brewer was married to Lucy Stanley in 1826. To this union was born Andrew Jackson Brewer; but in giving birth to the son the mother yielded her life.

The second marriage of Wilson Brewer was in 1830. He chose Margaret Moore, the seventh daughter of a French couple, Jonathan and Frances Galliene Moore, who was the seventh daughter of her parents.

The courageous, pioneering spirit of Wilson Brewer and his wife, Margaret Moore-Brewer, was a natural endowment from their revolutionary progenitors who abandoned personal interests, suffered bodily discomfort and endured material disaster to maintain the larger principle of service. One readily can understand that nothing less than the pioneer hardships of frontier life could satisfy them, so they made their way westward in 1848, and founded the town of Newcastle, now Webster City, Iowa.

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The memory of my father is a very sacred one to me; if I can live in the minds of my children as perenially as his influence remains with me, a pleasing immortality is assured.

Wilson Brewer did not give great attention to business detail; rather, he preferred to enlist and direct the energies and enterprises of others. He never was an official justice of the peace, but constantly was consulted in neighborhood disagreements or business transactions. He deprecated the acquisition of large tracts of land by non-resident companies, and declared that such a course subdued the spirit of progress.

He cared nothing for the glory of individual achievement. Money meant to him only the enlargement of a possibility to assist others; and he accomplished an enduring good by bringing together men with enthusiastic ideas and expansive minds. I greatly regret that his life could not have been prolonged until the further fruition of the town's future had been realized.

My father was hospitable to a fault; his last meal was shared with neighbors or newcomers. His generosity was the community by-word; and although he drove a shrewd bargain in a big deal, a close-fisted man was beneath his contempt. He was the soul of honor; his word was as good as a gilt-edged bond, and money lost in an unlucky wager was as promptly paid as an assessment of property taxes.

Wilson Brewer was a democrat in politics as well as an essentially democratic individual. Personal exclusiveness or aristocratic ideas were very displeasing to him, and any preferment or privilege for a class was denounced in no uncertain terms. He never failed in the assistance promised to neighbors or newcomers, and punctuality in such performance was his abiding rule.

This intrepid pioneer traversed the forests of Illinois, Indiana, Wisconsin and Iowa. He took the initiative in locating in a virgin country apart from the throng of people. He could not be daunted either by wild beasts or severe weather. He was alert for the possibilities of nat-

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ural dangers and agile in their avoidance. He safely passed the perils and obstructions of travel; he calmly contemplated the hazards of exposure to weather and failure of crops; and he wrested from field and forest the needful subsistence for his family. A square-dealer himself, he was slow to suspect a man of unfair intentions; and in impersonating that spirit of equity he failed to protect himself from the undeveloped human aggressor; and so yielded his life at the age of fifty-two years.

Wilson Brewer died in December, 1856. He had labored diligently to locate our city and promote its interests and was at the threshold of its tangible accomplishment. His death not only was a municipal misfortune but it also was a domestic calamity.

My mother knew absolutely nothing of business methods. All legal papers--land patents, deeds, mortgages and notes--were delivered to the attorney, W. G. Berkley, and the administrator, A. J. Brewer, who died within two months. Much misunderstanding, interminable delays and technical tangles ensued and extended throughout the Civil war. The papers were carelessly looked after and father's holdings of land and personal property were dissipated in the adjustment and settlement of the estate. Mother died March 27, 1896.

The immediate cause of the death of Wilson Brewer--founder and promoter of Newcastle-was the effect of a knife wound inflicted by a boastful character named Prendegast.

A presidential election bet had been made by the two men. Father wagered a twenty dollar gold coin against an overcoat of that price. After the election of James Buchanan, my father having won the bet, called upon Prendegast, in the store of Barton and Robinson on Bank and Seneca streets, to fulfil the agreement, but he refused to comply with the request.

A dispute arose. Prendegast, who was a young man, clinched my father and bent him over the counter. With a knife, which he evidently had in readiness, the assailant

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stabbed his victim several times in the back at the left shoulder. The clothing was cut into shreds, but only two thrusts penetrated the flesh. The wounds were not thought to be serious; and father requested that his assailant, who had been drinking, should not be taken into custody.

A few days elapsed. When it was found that the victim's injuries would prove fatal, Prendegast eluded the officers and fled the country.

APPENDIX II.

IN LOVING MEMORY OF MY FATHER.

With hopeful heart and steady step, you faced with glowing eyes,
The promise fair of Iowa, in fields, and streams, and skies.
The woodland wild through which you roamed and 'breathed the free,
fresh air,
Has vanished like the bright mirage fades from the heavens fair.
The hunting-grounds you traversed o'er with softly shodden feet,
Are marked with many mansions fair, and miles of paved street.
The gushing spring where once you bowed, and sipped its nectar sweet,
Now sings through many silvery pipes, the laughing lips to meet.
The miry swamps and thickets dense, the wastes of sodden soil,
Were marked as heritage, by you, for careful thrifty toil.
The covert wild, of feathered folk, the staggard's safe retreat,
By time and toil are well transformed with opulence replete.
The unbridged streams and trackless hills, long since fulfilled your
dream;
On rails of Meel o'er which they race, the iron horses scream.
The schooner and the old ox-team you gave especial care,
By motor cars are now displaced, and bird-men fill the air.
Far, far afield you saw the light; and so, in years agone,
You held ajar the door of hope, for those who here were drawn.
The city which your service sought--the vision then in view--
Has since assumed substantial shape, with prospects not a few.
Your ringing voice, for three score years, has silent been; but still
The spirit of your early work, keeps grateful hearts athrill.
The soil so rich, and well beloved, you charmed to fruitfulness,
Now folds itself about thy form, in silent, firm caress.
The busy bees and flitting birds, sing soft above your bed
The tuneful requiem of change, in time's unending tread.
The circling planets sweep through space, and finite powers defy;
And your dear dust helps to conserve the vital force supply.

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Lott-Indian Tragedies