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JOHN HAYS
PROMINENT among those who tramped down the weeds and brush at Fort Des Moines——in fact, all over Polk County——in the very early days, and helped materially to transform the scene first presented to him,in 1846, of a row of whitewashed log cabins strung along the Des Moines and 'Coon rivers, and eastward only a wide expanse of timber and brush, to a prosperous and beautiful city, was John Hays.
Of Irish parentage, born in Virginia, raised on a farm, educated and fitted for a school teacher,which profession he followed two years, in 1846, he determined to abandon his place in Missouri——he was opposed to the slave-holding element in that state——and find a home in Iowa among a more liberty-loving people.
Mounting a pony, he took an Indian trail across the uninhabited prairies, and followed it to "Raccoon Fork," arriving in February.
The little hamlet contained less than a hundred souls. Judge Casady's census of June of that year gives thirty-four as comprising the entire male population, not one-half of whom were married. John was seeking a job. The first man he met was John B. Saylor, who had started a Settlement, now Saylorville, who advised the selection of a land claim and farming as the best opening, the business demands at The Fort not being very flattering. He therefore made a claim at what is now Polk City, built a log cabin, and began the development of a farm, but two months later, receiving a good offer——he always had an eye to the remunerative dollar——sold the claim, and moved to the Saylor Settlement, where he purchased another claim, and began again to grow up the country, with the usual trials, discouragements, and privations of the pioneers on a farm.
Early in 1848, he came to The Fort, and, with a splendid Saylorville girl for a housekeeper, took a log cabin with one room, on Second Street between Walnut and Locust, which was standing
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as late as 1880,and engaged in teaming, but soon after joined "Uncle Jimmy" Jordan in buying and shipping live stock, a business he continued for fifteen years with good and substantial profit.
All animals had to go on foot to Keokuk. He drove the first lot of hogs from Polk County to Keokuk. He learned a lot about the innate cussedness of the animal before he got there, and was ready to accept the apostolic assertions of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, that they were "possessed of devils."
In those early days, the stock buyer seldom had much capital. He would go over the country and give his promissory note for the animals he purchased. When he had a sufficient number, he would drive them to Keokuk, often requiring several weeks, and sometimes attended with great difficulties and dangers from storms and absence of bridges. There were also meager facilities for handling live stock——stock platform scales had not materialized. An old-timer relates that he was obliged on one trip to weigh his hogs with the old-fashioned steelyards. He took the breeching from the horse's harness, made a swing in which the hogs were suspended, and weighed one at a time. Prices were low, compared with the present. If he got a dollar and a half to two dollars per hundred pounds, he did well. On his return, he would make the circuit again pay for the animals he had bought.
In 1848, John opened a butcher shop in one of the log barrack buildings at 'Coon Point, on Second Street, south of "Jim" Campbell's big grocery store, the first butcher shop in the town. The butchering was done in the shop, and the meat sales were held on Wednesday and Saturday, one good beef animal being sufficient for a week. This was a sort of side line for John, but in those days, business versatility was a necessity. He had a partner named Johnson, who looked after the shop. One day, John gave him the money to go to Delhi and buy a fat cow. He returned without the cow, saying she was wild and got away from him, but John, having more faith in the docility of Delhi cows, made and investigations, and found that Johnson had run up against a "hoss trot" and staked all the money on the wrong "hoss." That busted the fist butcher shop in Polk County, and the partnership.
The Winter of 1848 was noted as that of the big snow. The snow came early and often, and was very deep. Wolves were quite
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numerous in the dense timber and thicket along the rivers. The deep snow forced them, from hunger, to raid the premises of settlers, who were greatly annoyed by their onslaught on calves and sheep, there being very few barns or stables for protection against them. They would even attack teams along the highway. On Christmas Day, Hays, while going to Saylorville on horseback, was suddenly confronted with five long, lank,hungry fellows howling for blood. He had no gun or other weapon for defense. Releasing a stirrup from the saddle, he gave the a running battle for two miles, killing two of them. His terror-stricken horse, with every muscle strung to its utmost tension, finally outran the remainder.
When the Old Settlers organized their Claim Club, in 1848, for protection of their land claims against claim-jumpers and speculators, Hays was a charter member. Land-grabbers gave the organization a wide berth.
John was a very conservative, somewhat reticent, and not very optimistic respecting The Fort——had more faith in cattle and hogs than in corner lots. In 1849, he was offered the corner at Walnut and Third, where the Exchange Block now is, for seven dollars and a half, and he would not take it; could not see seven dollars' worth of future glory in the town. "Too far out"——bit soon after he changed his mind and bought a lot at the corner of Court Avenue and Fourth streets, opposite The Register and Leader office, on which was one of the several high Indian mounds to be found in the town, for which he paid one hundred silver dollars, and on the mound he built the Cottage House, a one-and-one-half story frame, which for five years he kept as a favorite sojourners' home, when it passed to J. D. Long. The name was changed to Avenue House, and for several years Mrs. Long was the beloved foster mother of many young people who made the house their home.
There were several lots in the early 'Fifties which were "too far out." Solomon McCain owned the block where now the Citizens' National Bank is, and he offered it to the genial Falstafian Esquire, Absalom Morris, for an old silver-cased watch, but the Esquire couldn't see anything very attractive in a "cow-pasture." Finally, after several banterings, McCain told him to "keep his old pewter watch."
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J. L. Mason, managing engineer of a ladies' hat emporium on Locust Street, has been thinking cuss words for twenty years over a mistake he made in solving the difference between foresight and hindsight, as related to buying corner lots. He used to run carding machines in that good old "Deacon" Perrior's woolen mill on the East Side. By getting up before the roosters crowed, working fifteen hours a day, with no lay-off except Sunday, the loyal Baptist deacon closing the mill on that day, he had accumulated a little surplus cash which he decided to invest in town property. He was offered the corner of Seventh and Walnut, where the Hub shoe store is, for twenty-five dollars, but somebody down in Bentonport, where were the River Navigation locks and dam, and a railway station on the Valley Road, that was to be, offered him two corner lots with a house on them for the same money. J. L. thought that was better than one lot and no house, and he made haste to get possession. He sees things differently now, and thinks cuss thinks every time he passes that Hub corner.
Hays was a charter member of the First Baptist Church. In 1848, the County Commissioners donated to the Missionary Baptist Church a lot at the northwest corner of Sixth and Cherry, on condition that a frame, brick, or stone building, not less than 24x30 feet, be erected thereon within two years. The band of Baptists was very small, and poor. It was not until February, 1851, that a church organization was perfected, with fifteen members, but one of whom, I think, is now living, and steps taken to build a meeting-house. In the meantime, the time limit of the lot donation had expired, but Judge William McKay, another charter member, purchased the lot to prevent its reversion to the county. Business changes rendered the lot undesirable. Two lots were offered at Locust and Fourth, for five hundred dollars, but refused, the price being deemed exorbitant, an estimate fully confirmed,a s they afterward went into the Savery House deal at three hundred dollars. A lot was finally selected on Mulberry Street, opposite the Court House,where shank's undertaking rooms are, for which the original lot, donated by McKay, and sixty dollars were given, and then began the erection of the church. Progress was slow, money and material were scarce. For six years, the members struggled amid
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delays and discouragements, until March, 1856, when the church was dedicated.
In 1851, the Board of County Commissioners was abolished and their powers and duties vested in the County Judge. At the August election, Forgis G. Burbridge was elected the first Judge of that court, and Hays was made bailiff of the court. His length of service is not show in the records.
In 1859, was one of the most strenuous political campaigns in the history of the state or county. It was the first struggle between the Democrats and Republicans. Samuel J. Kirkwood, subsequently the War Governor, was put up to make his first run for Governor. His opponent was Augustus Caesar Dodge, the nestor of his party, and known by everybody in the state, while Kirkwod was almost unknown, but he worked his way to the front and good graces of the people, and the Democrats suffered a defeat which has not been recovered. Hays generally had a hand in all the politics there was going, and he was as shrewd as the best of them. He kept Barlow Granger and his crowd busy guessing and keeping up their fences. He was the Republican candidate for Sheriff, the most profitable office in the county, and was elected by a big majority. That was the beginnings of a new order of things. The County Judge System, by which the Judge controlled all public affairs of the county,was relegated to oblivion, and all county business vested in a Board of Supervisors. The Judge was limited to probate matter. From that day to this, the Democrats have never elected their ticket in Polk County, or in this city. John served two years. Having helped to wind up the Democratic Party was glory enough, and, having accumulated considerable wealth, he decided to retire to private life. In 1870, he purchased a large fruit farm a few miles south of the city, where he resided until his death, in 1890.
Politically, John was a Whig. His first ballot was cast for "Tippecanoe and Tyler, too," in 1840. On the organization of the Republican Party, he united with it, and to the end of his days, the Democrats found him a formidable foe in all political campaigns. His long years of stock-buying trips over the country put him in touch with the farmers, and being genial, sensible, honest, and a farmer, too, he had to be reckoned with, but he was not an office-seeker.
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Socially, he was affable, jolly, but not loquacious; always active and helpful in all moral and educational projects, and a highly esteemed member of the Masonic fraternity.
July Twenty-third, 1905
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WILLIAM H. QUICK
 ONE of the best known men in Des Moines, and it may be said from Chicago to Sundown, is William H. Quick, or "Billy," as he is best known. Though not a pioneer of civilization, he was the pioneer of what has become an important part of the business life of the city and country——a great express business.
born in Hamburg, Sussex County, New Jersey, July First, 1832, a descendant of sturdy Holland stock from the land of windmills, who settled in New Jersey on a land grant from Queen Anne, he is, as he said a few days ago, "a full-blooded Holland Dutchman." His father was a miller, and in his youth, "Billy" was a general utility boy in the mill. Through some defect in the records of the land grant, his father was dispossessed of the property, and "Billy" was forced to paddle his own canoe. At the age of fifteen years, he took charge of a mill of five run of stones on Groeffel Hill, near Paterson, for old man Snyder, another Holland Dutchman, and ran it nine years. Snyder used to say: "'Billy' makes the best flour of any man in the country."
In May, 1852, he became ambitious to be a railroad man, and enlisted as a brakeman on the New York and Erie Railroad, under Hugh Riddle's management.
In May, 1853, Riddle having become general manager of the Chicago and Rock Islan, "Billy" transferred himself to that road as baggageman, and in May, 1855, was promoted to conductor.
In May, 1856, he was appointed as messenger for Parker's Express, on a line running from Iowa City to Dubuque.
In May, 1857, he was appointed agent at Iowa City of the United States Express Company, who had purchased all the rights and franchises of the Parkers. The old Mississippi and Missouri Railroad was slowly creeping westward, and, as extended, "Billy" was moved to Marengo, Brooklyn, Grinnell, and, in 1863, he was appointed superintendent of the company lines in Iowa, and the
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small part of Nebraska in which it operated. Since then, his territory has been enlarged to embrace Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota, Missouri, Nebraska, Colorado, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, and Indian Territory, or the entire Rock Island Railroad system in those states.
His first office in Des Moines was in a small frame building on the west side of Third Street, next to the alley, between Court Avenue and Walnut Street, and opposite the Blodgett House, partly built by the soldiers, first known as the Marvin House. It was the headquarters of the Western Stage Company, who carried all stuff for the Express Company. A. T. Johnson, the pioneer omnibus lineman, was the stage agent, and collected the express charges, "Billy" often paying him twenty-five thousand dollars a month.
When "Billy" took the office, there was only a weekly service. He immediately had it changed to a daily service. There were no deliver wagons in those days. Everybody had to go after their packages. Some merchants used hand carts.
Immediately on his appointment as superintendent, he selected his messengers from the old, trusty stage-drivers and stage messengers whom he knew well. The record of their service is worthy of mention. They remained with him as long as they lived. His employés may die, but the never resign. I recall a few of his old-time boys: George Butts, Aaron Stein, Winslow Billenger, John S. Magill, C. F. Chester, Fred. Kromer, E. M. Morseman——all dead except the latter——now President of the Pacific Express Company. "Billy" was proud of them, and often declared the company never lost a dollar by any act of one of them. A photograph group of six was presented to "Billy" Christmas Day, forty-two years ago, and he prizes it highly as a reminder of early days, and a testimonial of true, trusty friends.
The oldest messenger in the service was Kromer, or "Dutch Fred.," as he was best known. He began stage-driving when nineteen years old, drove with them westward to Des Moines, and on to Omaha. In 1861, he became a stage messenger from Des Moines to Omaha and Fort Kearney, Nebraska. When the railroad was completed, he was transferred thereto, and so continued to the end of his days, which came last year, at the age of seventy-six, having
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served sixty years without the loss of a dollar of the vast sums of money entrusted to his care. He was the very soul of honor and integrity, and of upright character. So implicit was the trust in him, "Billy" once said: "If I wanted to send away a million dollars, and it was mine, I would give it to Fred., without a receipt, and think no more about it, for it would be delivered if he lived to get there." Reminiscently, he went on to say: "In the early days, people were honest. There was very little robbery. Money and valuables were placed in common iron boxes. There would be a change of stage drivers every ten miles, but we never though of robbery. Now, we would not send such a box around the corner in Council Bluffs without extra protection. There has never been but one robbery in Iowa of our company, and that was about eight o'clock on the evening of July Twenty-first, 1873, when Jack Rafferty, one of the best and most popular locomotive engineers who pulled a throttle, was killed. The train was coming east from Council Bluffs, and between Anita and Adair, in a deep cut on a sharp curve and heavy grade, suddenly the engine gave a lurch and went into the ditch. The cab was crushed and Jack was probably thrown against the reverse lever, and his neck broken. The robbers, of whom there were seven, Cole and John Younger, the notorious bandits, and five of the Jesse James Gang, had removed the spikes and bolts from a rail, and, with ropes and straps, as the engine approached, pulled it aside. So quickly had Jack thrown the emergency brake, only the engine and express car left the rails. The passengers were severely shaken up, but not injured. Superintendent Royce, who was on the train, and "Billy" Smith, conductor, rushed out to ascertain the cause of the stop, when they were greeted with a fusillade of revolvers, and ordered to get back inside p.d.q., which, being interpreted, means, 'pretty d——d quick.' Royce discreetly obeyed, but "Billy" pushed ahead toward the engine, when several bullets whizzed through his trousers, and he retired. A Chicago man also came out and implored the Gang not to shoot innocent women and children.
"The reply, punctuated by a revolver shot, was: 'Get back inside. We ain't no common highwaymen. We only rob the rich to give to the poor.' In the meantime, two of the most stalwart of
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the seven entered the express car, where John R. Burgess, another veteran messenger, still on deck, with over forty years of service to his credit, was guarding his treasure box. With three big revolvers leveled at his head, he was ordered to hand out his key. Thinks went through his head in haste, but he concluded his life was worth more than the contents of the safe, and he very politely presented the key, when the master of ceremonies directed him to open the safe, and do it quick, which John very slowly and reluctantly did. The money was quickly extracted. Several mail sacks were cut open, but no letter taken. Picking up several valuable registered mail boxes, they asked if they contained money. 'You can't prove it by me,' said John, and they were thrown down when they left the car. Overlooking a large amount of gold bullion, they mounted their horses and went away, the whole event not occupying over fifteen minutes. The money was what had been taken at stations between Council Bluffs and Adair, and amounted to only eighteen hundred dollars.
The robbers stopped for dinner the next day at a farmhouse a few miles distant, and thereby were fully identified. "Billy" and Dan Bringolf, then Sheriff, went down to Missouri to round them up, but soon discovered they were being "shadowed," though carefully concealing their identity, for immediately on their arrival, "Billy" was visited by General Joe Shelby, who informed him he knew what he was there for; that the James boys were under his command, and couldn't be taken away. Everywhere they met a like rebuff, the chase was abandoned, and the robbers were never caught.
Another old-timer who, for the last thirty years as money messenger has been known to every bank, store and business house in the city is Doty——his "front" name don't count——I doubt whether he knows it himself,——it's just Doty. For many years, he drove a wagon and a beautiful, intelligent bay horse named Jack, a great pet, with an ever-present taste for sugar and candy, which was so pampered by women and children, Doty said they "played the deuce" with him. On going to a house to deliver a package, some child or woman up the street would appear holding up a hand, and away Jack would go to get what he knew was coming. It was not uncommon for him to be a block away, or around a corner, munching sugar with some young damsel, when Doty had finished his
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delivery, but express horses, like Methodist preachers, have to go where they are sent, and when Jack went to Omaha, it broke Doty all up, but he is still on duty, though his work has bee greatly lightened.
Another veteran was E. L. Smith, who was appointed agent at Eddyville, in 1857; in May, 1865, checked in as agent at Des Moines, and until his decease, about a year ago, every day found him at his desk. He was very quiet, courteous, methodical, highly esteemed by all employés and everybody who knew him.
The fidelity of these men to the trusts imposed with them, and the length of continuous service, is indeed remarkable, and a constant pleasure to "Billy" Quick.
Politically, "Billy" was an old-line Democrat, until McKinley first ran for President, when he concluded there was no difference between the Democrats and Republicans; that the Saint Louis Republican platform was identically the Tilden platform, except as to the tariff, which he indorsed, and he flopped, voted for McKinley, joined the Republican Party, and has been there since. He is not a politician, and takes but little active part in politics, but there are lots of United States Express boys who, when an important election approaches, want to know how he will vote.
Socially, he is genial, affable, and popular; is strongly attached to his employés, and they to him. A generation or more ago, he was one of "the boys." He is a member of the Royal Arch Chapter of the Masonic fraternity, and in 1860, when a delegate to the Grand Chapter of the Royal Arch Masons of the United States, he, with several other Iowa delegates, were initiated in the mysteries and miseries of the Sons of Malta. Subsequently, he joined the R.E.C.A., a cabalistic organization concocted about thirty years ago by Hy. Smith and Ed. Whitcomb. "Ret" Clarkson prepared the ritual. A lodge-room was secured between Second and Third streets on Court Avenue, and there the mysteries of the organization were carried out. Every month or two, promptly at half past ten o'clock, a long file of men could be seen coming down the stairs of the old building. Snake-like, they formed a procession of over a block in length. Each man wore a mask and a long white robe, and carried in one hand a spear and in the other a hickory stick,
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into which a hole had been bored and a candle set. Behind, came C. D. Miller, the Scribe, who was armed with a pen about four feet long and a bundle of records large enough to start the biggest bonfire ever built in Des Moines. Following him, came other men similarly garbed, carrying kerosene oil and the properties of the lodge. Around the streets they would march until the entire populace would be aroused to witness the strange ceremony. Sometimes, on gala occasions, a brass band would be added.
When Fourth and Walnut streets was reached, the men would form a big circle, in the center of which a big pot and tripod was erected. The fire would be lighted, and then, singing some strange song, the masqueraders would march around, dropping bits of paper into the fire. What these papers contained was a subject of much speculation. Some even declared that they were the unpaid wash bills of the members.
After the ceremony, the crowd would march into the old Savery House (now the Kirkwood), and there sit down to the banquet prepared. The same bill of fare was always presented——a bowl of soup, which had to be eaten with a fork.
On the night of the last day of the year, was brought to the big circle the records for the year, and every paper representing a business transaction, bills, receipts, etc., and, as the fellows circled around, a leaf from the record and a bill, or other paper would be cast into the flames, until all were burned, and the work of the year obliterated.
This was the public view of the organization. No one knew of many quiet visits to the homes of the poor and suffering, where loads of coal were left and empty larders were filled, where suffering was relieved and medical attendance secured for the sick. For years this charitable work was kept up and maintained quietly and unobstrusively. Many in Des Moines to-day can tell of the visit of quiet men, who, low-voiced and sympathetic, learned of the struggles of poor and incapacitated people.
The hold which this old organization got on the members, and the friendships which were formed there, has been lasting to the extreme. Scattered about over the country, the old former members remember the old home guard well. There are still in the city
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such men as "Billy" Quick, "Charley" Leonard, W. L. White, Harry West, John Chase, Harry Shepherd, Will. Lehman, George D. McCain, Con. Miller, Fred, Macartney, George Lyon, A. D. Willis, "Friday" Eason,a nd many others, whose membership has continued through these many years.
September Tenth, 1905.
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GENERAL N. B. BAKER
 OF all men prominently connected with the history of the state and of Des Moines, none stand out more conspicuously than General Nathaniel B. Baker.
Born in Hillsborough, Merrimac County, New Hampshire, in 1818, he received a liberal education preparatory to entering Harvard University, from which he graduated in 1839, when twenty-one years old; studied law with Franklin Pierce, subsequently President of the United States; admitted to the Bar in 1842; appointed Clerk of the Court of Common Pleas in 1845; Clerk of the Superior Court of Merrimac County in 1846; elected Representative to the Legislature in 1851, and chosen Speaker of the House; prominently mentioned for presidential candidate by the Democratic party in 1852; for three years associate editor of the New Hampshire Patriot, he became one of the most influential men in the state, and a leader of the Democratic Party. He was exceedingly popular with young men, and very helpful to them. In 1854, he was elected Governor, the last of his political faith in that state, and served one term. In 1856, he came to Iowa, and settled in Clinton, then a small town, but ambitious. The Legislature made a grant of land to the Iowa Central Air Line Railway Company, which had forfeited the grant by failure to comply with its terms. Clinton wanted a transfer of the grant to Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railway Company, organized to build a road from Clinton to the Missouri River, and which is now part of the great Chicago and Northwestern system. To secure his influence, and the benefit of his legislative experience in behalf of that project, Baker was elected Representative to the Legislature in the Fall of 1859. No mistake was made in his selection, for he at once became a leader, and largely instrumental in shaping the legislation of that eventful session. "Honest John Edwards," as he was called, from Lucas County, was the speaker. With little
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or no experience, he got on very well, except when the members became turbulent and got in a wrangle, as they sometimes do, he would call the "gentleman from Clinton" to the chair, who would quickly quell the storm and get business going as smoothly as if never ruffled, for he knew how to appeal to men, to gain their good-will and support.
"Charley" Aldrich, fresh from the prairies up in Hamilton County, was elected Chief Clerk. He didn't know as much about Legislatures as he does now. He had never seen one in session; hadn't the slightest idea of what he had to do, and, terribly fearful he wouldn't do it straight, it made him nervous and weak in the knees. Baker, who occupied a seat directly in front of the Clerk's desk, noticed the young man's trepidation, and the third day, after adjournment, went to the desk, gave "Charley" a whack on the back, saying: "See here, young man, I've got something to say to you. I sit right there," indicating his seat, "where I can see you from head to foot, and I notice that when you are reading or call the rolls, your knees tremble. I want to say to you that it's all d——d nonsense, and I don't want to see any more of it. You needn't stand in fear of anybody in this House. You are going to make a good Clerk, and we all like you. Brace right up, my boy; you are all right," then turning on his heel, walked away.
The bill for the transfer of the land grant came up early in the session. The railroad company was represented in the the Third House by a man named Crocker, its President, and a prominent Eastern railway manager. He was assisted by one Bodfish, with several attachés. It was the first lobby ever before an Iowa Legislature. It was known as the "Owl Club." Crocker was of commanding presence, dignified in manner, with a color and cut of hair; large, round, gray eyes, with wise, solemn aspect, which gave him the perfect semblance of an owl——hence the name. He was the chief engineer of the Club. Bodfish, a large, portly, jovial individual, a good mixer, had charge of the dispensary department. Its headquarters was at the old Demoin House, at First and Walnut. Baker had, perforce, charge of the bill in the House, and at once called in play all the tactics he had acquired from practice and experience. He was recruiting officer for the Club, and kept its rooms, which
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occupied nearly the whole ground floor of the old rookery, well supplied with members. A novel scene was the Club in procession, marching over to the State House every morning. It was never asserted that much money was being used, but generous promises of land were made, if the bill passed, and an abundant supply of thirst assuagers of several varieties were constantly on tap at the south end of the hostelry, while Bodfish had a quiet place to which were invited the Governor, Judges of the Supreme Court, and Legislators, for liquid refreshments. Governor Lowe, who was a man of most sanctimonious mien, indulged in no levity, of rigid temperance habits, declined the proffer, until Bodfish, "on the honor of a gentleman" and temperance man, assured him the whiskey they had brought to Iowa had all been run down a "yarn string" from the fifth story of a warehouse to the cellar, thus removing all its satanic elements and objectionable features; that it was harmless, and known to the elect as "string whiskey." The next day, the Governor told Judge Wright all about the innocent "string whiskey"——he ought to have known better——Bodfish had set up for him, and that evening, at a banquet given by the Club, the Judge, in his most inimitable, jocular way, related the Governor's discovery of harmless "string whiskey," which brought down the house and actually provoked a broad smile from the victim. It was a rather curt sally, but the old pioneers understood one another thoroughly, and the Judge thought it was too good to keep bottled up.
The land grant was transferred, and thus was secured the completion of the road, one of the greatest public improvements ever made in the state.
Another incident of the session, illustrating the trait of Baker to grasp situations and meet emergencies, was an election on the part of the House of a state officer, after a spirited and somewhat acrimonious contest. "Charley" made up the journal of the proceedings and deposited it in a cupboard behind his desk, to be reported the next morning, but before the hour of the meeting, discovered that the entire record respecting the election was missing. He was all broken up, and what to do did not know, but, recalling Baker's brace-up friendliness, laid the whole matter quietly before
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him. Asked if he still had the original minutes of the proceedings, he replied he had. "Well," said Baker, "leave it to me, and I will fix it up all right." When the House opened the next morning and "Charley" began to read his journal, Baker arose and stated that a portion of the journal had been lost or stolen,that the Clerk still had the orginal minutes from which the journal was made, and moved that he be instructed to make the proper restitution, which was adopted. "Charley" restored the journal, and it was approved by the House, thus averting an investigation and a big scandal. Who committed the larceny was never known, but "Charley" was sure he could put his finger on the man.
In 1861, when the war clouds began to gather, the Southern states were seceding from the Union and raising the red flag of Rebellion, Governor Kirkwood called a special session of the Legislature in May, to provide ways and means to support the President in his effort to suppress the insurrection. Iowa had no drilled military organization, and no money. There was also a large portion of the Democratic Party bitterly opposed to Lincoln's war measures, and loyal people were intensely alarmed respecting their action. Baker immediately went to the Governor and informed him he would do all in his power to induce his Democratic friends to support him, and aid in putting the state in condition to meet the demands of the President. He was made chairman of the Committee on Military Affairs in the House, secured the necessary provision for arming and equipping soldiers, for the support of their families, and the issue of war bonds for eight hundred thousand dollars, to provide a war and defense fund. At the close of the session, he was appointed Adjutant General, and soon after removed to Des Moines. In July of the same year, the State Convention of the Union Party nominated him for Governor, but he declined, declaring he would support Kirkwood in putting down the Rebellion.
As the war progressed, he was made Inspector General, Quartermaster, Paymaster, and Commissary General. The labor devolving upon him in organizing and equipping the fifty-seven regiments and four batteries which Iowa sent to the field was enormous, especially with the first regiments, for there were no telegraphs, no
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railroads, and to get them into rendezvous camps, stage coaches, liver hacks, and private conveyances had to be provided.
In addition to that labor, he kept a record and watchful care of the soldiers, wanted to know their condition at all times, and their casualties. After heavy battles, he would ask the department at Washington for details. At first, he was informed that the time of the department was "to precious to be devoted to sending casualties to the Adjutant General of Iowa, for the benefit of civilians," but the Adjutant General knew his rights and could not be bluffed. Sometimes he needed army supplies, and an attempt would be made at Washington to unroll red tape on him——he despised red tape——and they would get a vigorous rounding up. He was past-master in the use of what General Fitzhugh Lee called "energetic idioms"——his swear words, on occasions, were indeed robustous, and typical samples thereof would be hurled at headquarters, regardless of rank or station.
His office was a model of system and efficiency. Of the immense sums which passed through his hands, not a penny miscarried. He made a brief record of every Iowa soldier (eighty thousand), comprised in eight thick volumes, of wonderful accuracy, and of priceless value, as has often been verified, even the Pension Department at Washington depending upon it largely for facts.
The General had great affection for the soldiers, and they for him. No soldier, his family, or widow, ever appealed to him in vain. He would, and often did, make great sacrifices for them, even to his last dollar and clothes. It was marvelous the number he could call by name. They were all his "boys," and they most reverently called him "Pap."
Nothing incensed him so intensely as to be told that some of "his boys" were being ill treated in the rendezvous camp, before being mustered into the United States service. He took vigorous measure to stop it, and the perpetrators got a rounding up with the most forceful expletives in his masterful vocabulary. Shoulder straps interposed no hindrance in such cases.
When the Forty-seventh Regiment——the one hundred day men——were sent to rendezvous at Davenport, they were put on guard duty. They knew nothing of military duties, and the officers of
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the camp looked at them askance, and gave them no instruction. One night a camp shoulder-strapper found a young man of the Forty-seventh asleep at his post. He was called up, given a piece of timber, ordered to place it on his shoulders and walk the beat until further notice. While he was doing it, Baker came along, and, seeing him, asked what he was carrying that log for. On being told, he went to headquarters, and in very expressive language informed them that they hadn't one d——d bit of authority over the Forty-seventh Regiment, and to let it alone.
An instance, illustrating his watchfulness of them, was a railroad collision in Indiana, by which several of them were killed and wounded. He at once issued public notice to their friends not to make any settlement with the railway companies; that he would secure the proper reparation for what he deemed palpable, criminal negligence, and he did so.
The incidents illustrating the varied characteristics of this big-hearted, pattiotic, public-spirited man during his servitude would fill a big book.
During the Winter of 1862, the army had met with numerous reverses, and the people had become disheartened. The Legislature was in session, and one day a resolution was before the House to take a recess over Washington's Birthday. Amendments, farcical and ridiculous, had been piled on it, and the House was in a turmoil and wrangle, when a telegraph message was brought to the Speaker, announcing the capture of Fort Donelson. Instantly, there was a shout, all business was suspended, and everything loose went up in the air, amid which General Baker mounted a desk, and, with his leonine voice, moved that the "Prohibitory law be suspended for twenty-four hours. All in favor thereof, say 'Aye.' the Ayes have it." What transpired during the remainder of the day can be imagined, for before sundown several members had bee completely overcome by their enthusiasm. The General and Governor gave a banquet that night at the Demoin House, in honor of the capture, and during the latter's speech at the table, respecting the action of the South——he had not children——said: "I will do all I can to avenge the wrong, and I will teach my children——if I ever have any——" when the Senator from Dallas County sprang up,
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and, giving the table a vigorous whack with his fist, declared: "Governor, you shall have, and I now move that the Seventh Commandment be suspended for your benefit." It was unanimously adopted.
In 1864, learning that deserters from Price's army were crossing into Southern Iowa, for robbery and murder, Baker issued orders to the State Militia to "Be alert, and if those desperadoes enter the state to rob, steal, and murder, and are caught in the act, they are to be treated as outlaws, and shot on the spot, or hung to the nearest tree."
In September, 1867, came the invasion of the grasshoppers, an event of historic importance, and one of the most serious of the trials and hardships of the early settlers in the new counties. To one who did not see them, the ravages of the voracious insects would be deemed incredible. They came from the west, appearing first in Webster County. They spread over the ground, fences, buildings, and trees, ate the grain in the fields, grass, even the bark of young fruit trees, currants and gooseberries. During their stay, they deposited their eggs just below the surface of the earth, which hatched the following Spring, and the devastation was repeated, until their wings had grown, when they flew away in masses, darkening the sun. Thus they kept on for several years, invading the counties of Webster, Woodbury, Ida, Sac, Calhoun, Cherokee, Carroll, Greene, Dallas, Page, Adams, Ringgold, Madison, Adair, Boone, Warren and Polk. In Jefferson and Boone, the Chicago and Northwestern had lots of trouble, so thick were the grasshoppers they stopped trains on the grades. They reached Des Moines in their hopping stage, with a vigorous appetite, moved straight forward like an army of soldiers, the main body following Bird's Run, resting at night, cutting a wide swath in vegetation, leaving only bare stalks, and badly disfigured trees and shrubs. They went southeast across the rivers, their passage through the city requiring several days.
So disastrous in some of the new northwest counties had been the scourge to settlers, they were reduced to absolute want and poverty. Many of them abandoned their desolated farms, or sold them for a mere song, and left the state. Appeals were made for
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help. The Legislature appropriated fifty thousand dollars, to be expended for the purchase of seed for the farmers, but there was need of clothing and other supplies. General Baker at once started measures for relief. Some of his "boys" were sufferers, but his big heart was no respector of persons, and by his energetic, organizing capacity and vigorous appeals to the people——they were simply demands without apologies——and with the generous coöperation of the railroads and express companies, he soon had supplies in their homes. He went hither and thither, day and night, for months, often forgetting to eat or sleep. While on one of his errands of helpfulness among the settlers, in the Winter of 1874, he exposed himself a whole day in a storm of sleet and snow, took a severe cold, terminating in a pulmonary affection,which baffled all medical skill, and his giant-like form wasted away, until September Thirteenth, 1876, when he passed to his eternal rest as gently as a babe to sleep, poor in purse, but rich in the affections of the people.
In September, 1870, a reunion of Iowa soldiers was held in Des Moines, when thirty thousand of them were camped on the ground where the Capitol stands, and eastward thereof. To feed them was a monster undertaking. Murphy's big packing-house was given for cooking by steam. It required twelve beeves and sixty-four barrels of coffee for one meal. During the encampment of five days, one hundred and seven fat cattle, four hundred and ninety-eight barrels of coffee, and tons of other supplies were consumed. General Tecumseh Sherman was present, and wherever he appeared was greeted with a whoop that made the welkin ring. "Pap" Baker was happy, and so were his "boys." More than a score of the "boys" had been "pinched" during the night for over-indulgence in "Oh-be-joyful." Mayor Hatch was just ready to open court when Baker came in, and, looking around the room, inquired, "Sam," "Bill," "Joe," and so on, "What are you doing here?" to which they replied they were under arrest. "Arrest, h——l!" retorted the General, "Get out of here." The Mayor interrupted him with notice that they were there for trial. "To h——l with your trial. These
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are my boys. I'll take care of them. Fall in, boys," and he marched them out of the court-room, leaving the court and police dumbfounded at his effrontery. There were no more arrests of his "boys."
He was a member, for many years, of the State Press Association. His newspaper experience prompted him often to discuss public affairs in state papers, whose columns were always open to him, and many a powerful, stirring article appeared in the editorial columns of the Daily Register from his pen, unknown outside the office. He was a hail-fellow with reporters, and ever ready to give them aid.
He was a member of Capital Lodge, Number One Hundred and Ten, of the Masonic Order, and when the Masonic Mutual Benefit Association of Iowa was incorporated, in 1857, he was its first Vice-President.
As a citizen, his whole aim and purpose was to do good, to help the whole community. Brusque of manner he was, and blunt of speech, but a tenderer heart never beat in human frame. His generosity was ruinous to him. His interest in and helpfulness to young men was proverbial. His love of children was supreme. Those who were poor and needy were special objects of his commiseration and activities. It was not uncommon for him to pick up on the street a poorly clad and shivering boy during Winter cold and storm, lead him into a store, fit him with a warm, new suit of clothes, and go his way, the boy never knowing who had done it.
The granite column which marks his resting-place in Woodland Cemetery was erected with funds contributed in small sums by thousands of "his boys," a special privilege they requested, as a testimonial of their high regard for him. A special Act of Congress directed the War Department to place the four brass cannon which surround it.
No good portrait representing him in the prime of life is in existence. The one presented herewith was copied from a portrait now in the Aldrich collection in the State Historical Building.
August Nineteenth, 1906.
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