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JUDGE WILLIAM McKAY
A PIONEER of Des Moines who took an active and influential part in the formative period of the town was Major William McKay, a graduate of a Kentucky military school, hence his title. He came in February, 1846, while the soldiers were here, and while Fort Des Moines was under military control, but considerably relaxed, settlers having been permitted to come in and take residences as best they could. He was a young man of culture, courtly manners, genial and attractive. He soon gained public attention, and was considered a very desirable acquisition to the little hamlet just entering into civic life. The entire population did not exceed one hundred, but was increasing rapidly.
The buildings were of log construction, and comprised those used by the soldiers of the garrison——it was not strictly a "fort." They extended from the "Point," at the junction of the rivers, one along Raccoon as far west as Fifth Street, and one along the Des Moines as far as Walnut Street. One of them stood in the rear of the old Demoin House, near Walnut, as late as 1869, and was occupied by "Uncle Tommy" French, a bachelor, a good carpenter, a good man, a good fisherman, who supplied his friends with the best of his catch.
The barrack buildings were quickly filled, and other cabins added.
At the first election in the county, on April Sixth, 1846, a Board of County Commissioners was elected, who had control of all county affairs. At the first meeting of the Board, April Thirteenth, the Major was elected Clerk of the Board, and soon after was appointed County Agent, and directed to sell at auction the houses, rails, and other property which the Government had transferred to the county. The sale was made July Sixteenth, and was a welcome event. Many families were living in tents, or "doubled up" in cabins, and they were anxious to get better quarters,
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and the barrack buildings were quickly sold, to some who afterward lived in more pretentious and costly homes, but not more contented and happy.
The pioneers were patriotic, and July Fourth, 1846, the day was celebrated with great enthusiasm. A procession of men and women from the town and country, numbering about two hundred, was formed, headed by two fiddles——brass bands had not materialized——which marched to a small grove——there was plenty of them on the plateau at the time——where Tom Baker delivered an oration, the Major read the National Magna Charta, a big dinner was served; there were toasts and repartees, and a dance in the evening of a very hot day closed the first event of the kind in Polk County.
The first state Legislature, which convened at Iowa City, in November, 1846, decided to remove the Capital to a more central point, and appointed a lot of alleged Quakers to select eight hundred acres of public land, which Congress had donated for that purpose, to be the Capital, which they did, on an open prairie in Jasper County. They platted a town, sold lots, and named the "future Capital" Monroe City. The Major was Clerk of the Commission, and his record of proceedings was too exactly precise. It showed that four hundred and fifteen lots were sold on time payments for seven thousand, one hundred and ninety-eight dollars and twelve cents; that one thousand seven hundred and ninety-seven dollars and forty-three cents was received in cash; that their services and expenses were two thousand, one hundred and six dollars and fifty-seven cents; that two of the Commissioners bid off fifty-two lots and optioned bid chunks of land lying roundabout, for future delivery. The whole business was so tainted with "skull-duggery," the Legislature repudiated it.
At the May Term of the District Court, in 1847, the Major was admitted to the Bar of Polk County, and was the first lawyer admitted thereto. He at once became very prominent and successful. On the adoption of the first state Constitution, Polk county was made the Fifth Judicial District, and at the April election, 1849, the Major was elected the first Judge of the District Court.
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It is a curious fact that from 1846 to 1849, there was no official record of an election held in Polk County, the only evidence of such election being the record of the proceedings and acts of public officers. The first evidence of the election of Judge McKay is his entries on the court docket at the May Term. It was not until 1851 that intelligible county records were kept. The first-comers were easy-going fellows. They didn't stand much on ceremony. There were not many of them; they knew each other well; they would get together, talk over matters, agree on some line of action, go and do it, and let it go at that. There was, however, ample prior official notice of an election to be held, for there were politicians in those days. For instance, County Clerk Lewis Whitten issued the following election notice:
"There will be elected at our next election [no date given] a state officer styled Superintendent of Public Instruction, a district officer styled a District Judge, and such county and township officers as are mentioned in the advertisement. We hope the Democrats will play the Whigs a strong game, and show that we have a majority in the county. It is said the Democratic candidate for Judge is the best lawyer in the state."
The election of Coroner Phillips, the first one elected, is another instance. There is no record to show that a successor was elected to him for sixteen years, yet in the interim the certificates of several persons as Coroner are on file in the county offices. He was an eccentric and somewhat bibulous character, and had exalted opinion of his office. During the noted "Fleming War," he put the town under Martial Law. He went around to all the stores, ordered them closed and locked, to save the goods from pillage, and everybody to "arm themselves and be ready to act under orders." On another occasion, two Indians came to The Fort, got drunk, and one killed the other. Phillips was called. He came, turned him over, opened his eyes, and pronounced him dead, "dead as h——l." Someone suggested the calling of a jury. "what in h——l do you want of a jury?" said he, "He's dead, you know he's dead, and Miss Hays knows he's dead. Bury him, go about your business."
That occurrence reminds me that the Miss Hays to whom Phillips referred was a somewhat boisterous character. She was one
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brought before a Justice of the Peace, charged with assault and battery. The record of the case shows the following:
"On the oath of —————, warrant was ishued on the 23d day of december. Warrant Returnd on the 17th day of december, and the defendant braught, a vanire ishued and jury braught forthwith, and after the jury was sworn and thare names called as followes to wit Thomas Leng, henry Spong, J. P. Taylor, Samuel hays, Aron Smith, Stephen gosse, and witness Swor and examend the jury retired and braught in a verdick of guilty of manslawter and judgement accordingly and commitment ished and the defendant sent to the county jainl.
"________________________
"Justice of the Peace."
In April, 1850, when Fort Des Moines Lodge Number Twenty-six, Independent Order of Odd Fellows, was organized, the first instituted in the county, McKay was installed its Warden, and he was a prominent and influential member.
He was a firm believer in the religious creed of the Baptist denomination, and in February, 1851, at a meeting of fifteen of the faith, held in the Court House, he assisted in organizing the First Baptist Church, and he was elected one of the deacons. In January, 1848, the County Commissioners donated a lot to the church, conditioned that a meeting-house be erected thereon within two years, the lot to be held in trust by the Judge. The times were hard, the house was not built, and, to prevent reversion of the lot to the county, the Judge purchased it, and later, when ready to build, he donated the lot to the church.
The Judge was an ardent teetotaler, and avowed his temperance principles on all occasions, even in his political campaigns. In 1852, when North Star Lodge of Good Templars was organized, he was one of the charter members.
He loved the beautiful, whether in animal or still life. He foresaw, in the broad prairies, running streams, and healthful climate of his adopted state the possibilities for horses, cattle and grain. In 1853, a movement was inaugurated for the organization of the State Agricultural Society, and for holding the first State Fair, Iowa then being the only Free State not holding such a Fair. The
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Society was organized in December of that year, and the Judge was elected one of the three directors to represent Polk County.
In 1854, his second term expired, and he was a candidate for reëlection. The Know-Nothing craze was rife, and the political atmosphere was breezy. P. M. Casady was the Democratic candidate. The district comprised the whole northwestern part of the state. McKay had become very popular during his four years' service. The fight between the East and West sides over the location of the State House was on, with "blood on the moon." Grimes was running for Governor against Curtis Bates, a prominent Democrat at The Fort, and the outlook portended a close contest. Casady having been State Senator two terms, and largely instrumental in securing the removal of the Capital to Des Moines, was widely known. He was not so good a talker on the stump as McKay, but he got close to the plain people, with his heart-to-heart talks and earnest, logical , convincing way of putting things. The situation demanded strategy——there's nothing like strategy in war. It was anything to beat the Whigs. Marshall County was in the throes of a county-seat contest. W. W. Miller and two others had been appointed to select a place for the county-seat, and they seem to have got in "cahoot" with one John B. Hobbs, for speculative purposes, and located it at Marietta. The court was held in a log building, one side of which was divided into horse stalls, so that Judge McKay's horse quietly munched hay and oats while court was in session. Marshalltown wanted the county-seat, and old "Hank" Anson, father of the well-known baseball player, inaugurated a movement to get it, invited Casady to assist, to which he responded, with an explanation to Des Moines friends that he was going up there to "visit among some old friends." He was received with great cordiality, given "the best in the house," and his horse put up in the "Court House stable." He hobnobbed with the old settlers, chucked the babies under the chin, while he told Miller and his confederates that they had mad a mistake——Marietta was too low, wet, and undesirable for a county-seat. Marshaltown won the county-seat, and Casady won the judgeship, but immediately after his election he was appointed Register of the United States Land Office, carrying a better salary, and he resigned the judgeship without holding court.
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After his defeat, McKay returned to the practice of law, in a court presided over by a Judge, the very antithesis of all his moral sentiments, a Judge so eccentric in his habits as to become notorious——the well-known McFarland. Every lawyer of that day was loaded with incidents of his peculiarities. On one occasion, General Samuel A. Rice had and important The Judge came into court so groggy he couldn't see straight, and in ill-humor. The first business was the hearing of motions, which were presented by the lawyers, every one of which the Judge very curtly denied, without reason or explanation. When Rice's turn came, he very quietly presented his motion with the remark that he did so merely to "save a point," but as his Honor was overruling everything, he could not expect an exception in his case.
"No, you don't, Sammy; no, you don't," said the Judge, arousing himself from his somnolent condition. "This Honorable court has investigated that point, and you are sustained."
As the motion covered all the points he wanted to save, Rice won out.
Soon after his defeat, McKay was appointed a member of the River Land Commission, to represent the state in the final settlement of the tangled affairs of that master project of public improvement and river obstruction.
In 1857, he went to Kansas, where he died in 1859. In all his relations with civic or social life, he stood for the betterment of all.
July Thirtieth, 1905.
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PIONEER WOMEN
MY reminiscences of pioneers and old settlers——the pioneer claims a little distinction because he was "first in" ——has been confined mostly to the men, but the wives and mothers should not be forgotten. While they did not build houses, business blocks, churches, and schoolhouses, make laws, and lay the foundation of civic government, they did lay the foundation of what is most essential to good government, to a successful, progressive, and prosperous community. They were the home-builders, the moulders of child life. They left to succeeding generations a heritage in the character of their children (was there ever a settler's cabin presided over by a childless woman), who have, with fidelity to their early training, perpetuated the nobility of their maternity upon the county and town, so that the character and influence of the pioneer matrons is woven into the warp and woof of our civic life.
It was the mother who bore and cared for the babies, cared for the house, dressed the fowls, gathered and preserved the wild fruit, did the family knitting and sewing, fried out the fat for and dipped the candles, helped in the fields, and did the thousand things a good mother finds to do from four o'clock in the morning until night hours, when all others of the family are in bed asleep.
It required courage and self-abnegation for those women to turn their faces from homes and kindred in the more civilized communities, many of them homes of plenty, and environments pleasing to woman's nature, to make new homes, and endure the hardships, sickness, want, and unending toil during the best years of their life, to build up a new civilization.
There were also the trials and discouragements of housekeeping with meager facilities or improvised substitutes.
Their first experience was a log cabin, often one room, which was parlor, living-room, bedroom, and kitchen, with oiled paper
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windows, puncheon floor, and so well ventilated the stars could be seen through the openings. For water, a hole in the ground, without wall or curb, or a far-off creek or river.
Cooking was done by fireplaces of rude construction. For bread-making and biscuit, an iron skillet was heated over coals on the hearth, the dough put in, a heated cover placed over the skillet, and covered with live coals. A Dutch oven was sometimes used, with an open front, and set before the fire. Coffee was boiled in a vessel on coals drawn out on the hearth. Meats and vegetables were cooked in iron pots and kettles. Corn bread was usually cooked on hot pone-cake boards. Corn bread, pork, and rye coffee were the staple foods. Sometimes there was no flour nor corn meal; mills were far away, roads impassable, rivers flooded and unfordable. Meal could be had only by pounding up the corn, or "jinting" it, which consisted of turning a carpenter's plane bottom up and shaving off the corn from the cob. There were many occasions when whole families went to bed hungry because "father" was delayed in getting home from the mill.
The experience of the pioneer of the town and country was much the same, the difference being in their nearness to each other. In the country, isolation was a saddening condition for the pioneer woman, the story of which could be found in the records of an asylum for the insane.
 Mrs. Judge Casady probably has not forgotten her introduction to pioneer life. Raised in comparative luxury, the daughter of a well-to-do physician, F. C. Grimmel, she arrived here in a covered wagon, after a long and weary journey from Ohio, in August, 1846, at ten o'clock in the night. There was not a vacant place in which the family could unload the wagons, and the night was spent in camping. The next day, the abandoned Guard House, with its iron-barred windows and doors, was secured, and there, at Vine and Third streets, the Summer and Winter were spent. The next year, her father bought one of the Government warehouses, made of plank, tore it down, and made a small dwelling-house of it, near the corner of Sixth and High. In 1848, she married the Judge, who built a small frame house on the corner now occupied by Clapp's Block, where she lived a few years, and adapted herself to the contingencies of the times and place. There were no sidewalks nor
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pavements. In wet weather, and on rainy days, the mud was deep, and passable only by donning the Judge's boots. It was the habit of the pioneers to adapt themselves to circumstances and conditions. She will pass her eightieth birthday the Nineteenth of the present month.
The little community at The Fort often got hungry; the larders got bare; provisions got scarce. When the soldier retired, and the surplus of the commissary stores of the garrison were sold, it was a great boon, for there were many families with little or nothing to eat in the house. Rice was sold for two and one-half cents per pound; pork, three cents; eggs, three cents a dozen, and sugar less than one-fourth price.
Said Mrs. J. M. Griffith to me one day: "I never knew what it was to want for anything, or be hungry, until I came to Fort Des Moines. It was not because there were not means to procure it, but it could not be found. I was often hungry from scarcity of food supplies. I also got satiated and tired of corn bread, bacon and dried apples, I thought I could not endure them, but I got used to them——I had to."
 Mrs. Isaac Cooper also braved the trials and vicissitudes of life in a cabin, and its scanty comforts. There was but one chair for all, sufficient when there were no "callers." To supply the deficiency, Isaac fashioned one from a Black Walnut tree, and the bark of Linnwood. Her children wore out their shoes, as children proverbially do. There was no shoemaker——he had not arrived——and the father again came to the rescue by making some shoes from the leather of saddles the soldiers had discarded. While they were not as fashionable as the "Sorosis" of the present day, they did good service. Mrs. Fred. Hubbell doubtless has a vivid recollection of those shoes, and the exquisite pleasure of "breaking them in."
 Mrs. Nancy Barns was born in Virginia, May Twenty-fifth, 1820, and when a child, her parents removed to Miami County, Ohio. In 1855, with her husband, William S. Barns, she went down the Ohio River, thence up the Mississippi to Keokuk, thence by wagon to Fort Des Moines. She has a memory replete with reminiscences of the trials and deprivations of the early days. Her husband for many years had a general store on Second Street.
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When they came to The Fort, the only way to get a house was to buy a lot and build. He went to Summerset to get lumber for a house. The mill owner could not furnish the lumber, would not rent the mill, so he bought the mill and some trees, sawed the lumber, hauled it to The Fort with oxen, and built a small house, "out on the hills," at what is now Tenth Street, and there Mrs. Barns still resides. In the early days, she took an active part in the social life of the town. Despite her eighty-five years, she is as young in spirit and vivacity as most persons half her age.
The severest trials and deprivations were among the settlers in the country, hardly conceivable now, when is seen the beautiful homes and magnificent farms of the present occupants.
George Beebe, who started the well-known "Beebe Settlement," a few miles north, built a cabin in 1846. There was no chinking between the logs, and the wolves would come in th night and stick their noses through the cracks, badly frightening Mrs. Beebe and the children when her husband was absent. In the Summer time, snakes would crawl into the cabin, only to be discovered by the terrified shrieks of a little tot, or when turning down the bedclothes to lay him away to sleep. Prairie fires in the Fall would sweep around the cabin, the flames leaping high in the air, threatening destruction of everything in their path, the mother and children watching with terror lest it sweep away their home. Often the flour was scarce, and the primitive mills, just starting, had no appliances for bolting it. Mrs. Beebe contrived one by using a box, on one side of which she fastened some coarse woven cloth, in which was put the flour, and the box shaken back and forth on slats laid on stools or chairs.
Elijah Canfield, who became a prominent and wealthy farmer in Camp Township, started out with a log cabin sixteen feet square, with stick chimney and fireplace of small stones. Wolves and rattlesnakes were a constant source of terror to Mrs. Canfield and the children. During the Summer of 1846, there was an epidemic of ague in the settlement, seven of the family were sick, two died, and only the father, himself enfeebled, was able to attend the funeral, neighboring farmers performing the duties of sepulture. During the sickness, the supply of flour and meal was exhausted, and the
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father started to Oskaloosa to get them. While absent, he was prostrated with sickness. There were no mail facilities, for getting information respecting his delay, and his family were very greatly alarmed and distressed by his long absence and the need of supplies. The mother, worn out with care and worry, debilitated by sickness, was unable to look after the cows; they wandered away, went dry, and there was great suffering.
Isolation was one of the most serious burdens of the pioneer women. With few or no amusements, or little to divert the mind from constant toil, they sometimes broke down completely.
While the pioneer women suffered much, they also enjoyed much that will never be duplicated in Polk County. they had a monopoly of life, near to Nature, with all its experiences, advantages and privileges which will not come to any succeeding them.
The present generation can hardly have a conception of the evolution from the wild, blank prairies and river valleys to the magnificent farms, thriving, progressive cities and towns; from the "prairie schooner," horseback mail carrier, and stage-coach to the electric car, telephone, sewing-machine, electric light and power, all of which were unknown to the pioneers.
August Sixteenth, 1905
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LEVI J. WELLS
 ALTHOUGH not a pioneer, according to a strict construction of the code, Levi J. Wells came early enough to be entitled an "Old Settler." He hove into Des Moines in 1856, with intent and purpose to do something, but there was little or nothing doing. The town was small, times were hard, and money was scarce, and what there was of it was of the "wild-cat" variety, and of doubtful paternity.
The first job he struck was hauling brick for "Jim" Savery, who was building what is now the Kirkwood House. He was a good carpenter and master workman. By industry and economy, he had accumulated about two thousand dollars, a part of which he invested in some of Alexander Scott's acres on the East Side, south of the Capitol. The remainder he plated in the historic A. J. Stevens' balloon bank, which went up in the air soon after, and with it all of Levi's hard-earned dollars. A little thing like that did not feaze him.
In 1860, Alexander Williams and John J., his son, well known to citizens of the present generation, purchased the old dilapidated flour mill and flood-beaten dam at First and Center streets, and with the practical help of Levi, rebuilt the mill and dam. It was exclusively a "toll" mill, the amount of toll being regulated by the compunctiousness of the miller, but I never heard of John being suspected of exorbitant toll. The old mill was a big benefaction to farmers and the community at large for more than thirty years, but it finally succumbed to the progress of events.
After the completion of the mill, Levi resumed business as builder and contractor during the war period, with the consequent disturbance to all business enterprises during those four years of tumult and strife.
In 1864, it became evident that Polk County was short its quota of enlisted men, and that a forced draft was the only means of
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supplying the deficiency. When later, it became a certainty, there was a sudden hegira of able-bodied men to a more congenial and healthful climate. The whole community was greatly stirred up. Heroic efforts were made by the city wards and townships to secure their quota of men called for, but some of the townships failed, and the unlucky man with money who got spotted paid a good price for a substitute. In the city, all the wards but the First furnished their quota, and when the dragnet was thrown out, Levi was caught. He made no effort to "dodge," but promptly presented himself at headquarters for a physical and mental examination. The doctors thought he was a good catch, but on going over his anatomy, fount the thumb and two fingers missing on his right hand, which had been fingering with a buzz saw. Though, much as Uncle Sam needed men, he would not take emasculated specimens, and Levi was dropped with thanks.
Immediately after the close of the war, business of all kinds began to thrive. There was a great demand for food products. The whole country had been denuded of them, and Levi decided to speculate a little on the shortage. He bought one hundred barrels of pickled pork, threw it on the wrong side of the market, pocketed a dead loss of eight hundred dollars, and decided to make no further effort to help Iowa farmers by building up the pork industry. That cured pork cured his speculative symptoms for all time.
In 1866, he leased the old "Grout House," so called, built of small cobblestones,coarse gravel, and cement, which stood for many years at the northeast corner of East Sixth and Walnut, and was a popular home for Legislators and state officers, ex-Governor Gue making it his abiding place for some time. But Levi was not built for a Boniface, the life was too sedentary, and after a year's experience, though profitable, he retired and began building houses in a small way on some of his East Side holdings.
In 1868, he purchased of George Sneer his livery stable, on the west half of the present Clapp Block, next to the alley on Walnut Street, and at once inaugurated a new era in that business in the city. He introduced hacks and 'busses, and kept pace with the rapid growth of the city. He was a lover of good horses, and usually drove some fine steppers, not record-breakers, but just fast
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enough to worry and aggravate the other fellows when out for an airing. The increase of business necessitated the building of four-floor brick stables on Fourth street, soon to be followed with a large, four-story brick at Eighth and Mulberry. Though he is not with us, his familiar vehicular monogram, "W.," has been perpetuated by his son Jesse.
Prior to 1878, the streets of the city were simply dirt roads. There was no pavements, and at certain seasons, the wet, heavy, sticky clay rendered the passage of light vehicles difficult, and of heavy loads nearly impossible. It was ruinous to fine carriages, and wearing on horseflesh. To get heavy-loaded wagons stalled on Walnut Street out of the mud with jacks and hoists was a frequent occurrence. Sometimes, Levi's hacks got stuck. I remember an instance in the late Fall, after a long rainfall. It was a dank, cloudy evening, and his hacks were carrying people to receptions. At the corner of Fourth Street, on turning west into Chestnut, the wheels went down over the hubs, the horse floundered and fell. All that could be done was to extricate the passengers, get the horses clear, and abandon the vehicles. There was also some doings over at the State House, and in struggling up the Locust Street grade, the horses got as far as Ninth Street, and quit from sheer exhaustion. The were also removed, and the hacks left. During the night, the mercury suddenly dropped, and the hacks were frozen fast in the earth, to be chopped out or left to the radiant rays of the Summer sun.
The City Council was again and again petitioned to devise some means for relief. They were lambasted, cajoled, and condemned by the people. One day, during a long period of mud and slush, and the streets simply sluggish rivers of ooze, Levi hove into Walnut Street with a large flat-bottom boat, drawn by four large, fine horses, which was hauled up and down the street, placarded: "For Passage, Apply to the City Council." There was a man in the bow to lookout for breakers and snags, carrying a long, graduated pole, which he jabbed into the depths, and with stentorian voice declared his findings: "Three fathoms," "Four fathoms," "Two fathoms." The whole outfit, horses, vessel and men, were covered with mud. It was a masterly production of satire, and brought results, for
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immediately began a system of paving and sewering, culminating in what we have to-day.
When the German Savings Bank was organized, Levi became a stockholder and one of the Board of Directors. Subsequently, he was elected President.
During the Semi-Centennial Celebration of the city, in 1896, Levi went over on the East Side, at the grounds of the old abandoned brickyard, where he found the skeleton of the identical cart in which he hauled brick for the old Savery House. He toggled it up for service, found an ancient gray horse, embellished with spavins and string-halt (a high-stepper), whose ribs and bones could be counted half a mile off; a dilapidated harness, generously reparied with rope, and padded with straw, to ease the equine protuberances, and, with these, he joined the procession, accompanied by his wife and children, all clad in garbs of years long gone by. The vigor with which he pushed on the tow lines, and used the gad to expedite his steed, expected every moment to tumble over and block the procession, was a notable one of the many good features of that event.
Socially, Levi was genial, affable, and kind-hearted. He was a good story-teller, and often united with "Laughing" Hatch in spinning yarns. When the two got together on a street corner, there was fun galore——the more so if Ed. Clapp "jined in." Hatch's laugh could be heard half a mile, and it would tickle a whole square. It was one of the best cures for the "blues" in the whole pharmacopoeia. Old-timers used to greatly enjoy their exuberant collisions. the trio were also horse fanciers, and drove some fine animals.
Politically, Levi was a Republican, and, as a large property-holder and good citizen, took an active part in politics, not as a place-seeker, but as a "sentinel on the watch tower," whereby he exerted a good influence for the betterment of civic affairs. He was, however, in 1891, inveigled to run for Alderman of his ward. Michael Drady had been holding the place year after year, and the Third Warders wanted a change. I. E. Tone, the spice and coffee dealer, was Levi's opponent. At the March election, Levi won out, but through some misinterpretation of a new-fangled statute, the
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entire city election was set aside and another held in April, but Levi had no taste for the bear-garden business, refused to run again, and Tone was elected.
Levi was public-spirited, and enlisted vigorously and heartily in all public events and projects for social improvement of the community. He died February Fifteenth, 1902.
August Thirtieth, 1905
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