Boone County, Indiana - Chapter 21: Boone County Cemeteries, 1914

Chapter 21: Boone County Cemeteries

If there was anything dearer to the heart of the Aborigine than his hunting ground, it was his burial place. Their usual method in burying their dead, was to cover the body with a slab of wood, and then place five or six inches of dirt over that; but this method was not always followed. In one instance the body of a child was found buried in a hollow log. In another case the body of an old chief was placed, according to his request, in the branches of a tree where his bones yet remained when the first settlers came. For generations, the child of the forest would visit the burial place of his fathers, and ever held it in his memory as sacred. As far back as the white man's knowledge of the trading-place of Kawazakee or Thorntown, there were at least three of these sacred spots, one on the hill on the west side of the Prairie creek; and one on the hills on the east side of Prairie creek, a third one about a mile further east on the Hamill farm. Long after the Indians sold out their reserve, the chiefs and principal Indians, were accustomed to return and visit the burying places of their fathers. The early white settlers respected these resting places of these warriors, and they remained undisturbed by the settlers; a story is extant, that an archaeologist from Yale, came one time, and exhumed a skeleton from the Indian graveyard and the State punished him severely, which taught all intruders a lesson. The white man, too, was immortal, and soon after coming to this new Western wild, being exposed to its hardships, miasmas and privations, he, too, passed away, thus making the necessity of a burying ground. Some high knoll on his own premises, or, neighbors near by, was selected. In this way each cemetery was first a private graveyard, being increased by the addition from time to time of some neighbor or friend, and in this way "God's Acre" first took its start. The first grave of a white person known in this "Indian Reserve" was that of a young girl, just entering her teens, known in history as Jemima Harness. The family moved away. No one was ever buried by the side of her, and the sacred spot remains to this day a lonely, unmarked grave. Civilization owes it to her to plant there a tomb to her memory. Far too many burial places were established. Some became only dear to a single family, others were deserted or removed; only those which became of community interest remained and are being developed. There are at least, in this county, sixty burying places, not counting those which belong exclusively to a family. They are distributed generally over the county from three to six in a township. In these consecrated spots are resting this day all that remains of the early pioneers of this county. Some of these resting places are organized and incorporated, others are not. Some are in charge of the township trustee, under the provisions of the law regarding cemeteries. Not a few are being discontinued, because the friends have died or have moved away.

We can not here enumerate and locate each, but will simply mention those with which all are most familiar: Oak Hill, Lebanon, Center township; St. Joseph, Lebanon, Center township; Brown's Wonder, Center township; Elizaville, Clinton township; Hopewell, Clinton township; Bethel, Marion township; Mud Creek (Salem), Clinton township; Bethel, Washington township; Mechanicsburg, Washington township; Jones, Marion township; Mount's Run, Union township; Center, Center township; Lutheran, Eagle township; Pleasant View, Union township; Jones, Union township; Pitzer. Union township; Mt. Tabor, Perry township; Smith, Perry township; Howard, Perry township; Johnson. Perry township; Mount Union, Center township; Robinson, Harrison township; Old Union, Jackson township; Mt. Zion, Jackson township; Pleasant View, Jefferson township; Cason (Dover), Jefferson township; Cox, Jefferson township; Poplar Grove, Harrison township; Brockway, Jackson township; Jamestown, Jackson township; Sugar Plain, Sugar Creek township; Taylor (Hazelrigg), Jefferson township; Beck, Washington township; Salem, Eagle township; Bethel (Precinct), Washington township; Milledgeville, Harrison township; Rosston, Union township; Salem (near Zionsville), Eagle township; The Old Graveyard, Thorntown, Sugar Creek township; Maple Lawn, Sugar Creek township; Brush Creek, Washington township.

Skeleton Of Indian Chief

earthed. Those who saw the skeleton and the Indian relics which were found buried with it thought the skeleton that of a former Indian chief. The skeleton was in a fairly good state of preservation. With the body was found a nine by twelve inch silver cross with the initials P. H., and word Montreal inscribed thereon. This is the third cross found buried with Indian skeletons within the past few years, and the third skeleton found buried on the Coolman premises. A stone peace pipe, a gold thimble and other trinkets were also found. The Indian graves have all been unearthed at a depth of about two feet.

John Hewitt is in possession of a peculiar design in silver that was found where the relics of crosses and bracelets were found in the exhume on front street. The figure seemed to be a six pointed star in looks and all inclosed with a ring. It was a curio upon which you could place the pencil and trace all the lines without removing the pencil.

Indian Lore

I met a man on a traction car the other day who told me that James Davis was dead. He was a very old man. I knew him and my father and grandfather knew him. Then I thought of a story he told me about a big tree that laughed and cried. He and I were sitting on a bench in front of the postoffice in Thorntown, the day the beautiful fountain given the town by a General Mills as a monument to his father and mother, was dedicated and he told me the story. I believe I will try and tell it to the boys and girls who read the Sunday Times. I mean the little boys and girls.

Thorntown is on the Big Four railroad, about half way between LaFayette and Indianapolis. It is a very old town, older than LaFayette or Indianapolis. It was an Indian town long before it was a white man's town. There were a great many thorn trees growing around there with long sharp thorns on them and that was why it was named Thorntown. Of course the Indian word for Thorntown [Ka-we-ah'-ke-un-gi], was different but that was what it meant. The town is located on a fine level plat of land and on the east side down a nice grassy, sloping hill, is Prairie creek. All along at the top of the hill were a lot of fine big oak trees, just a good deal like the trees at Battle Ground. Jimmy's home was on this hill and one of the largest of these trees was in his yard.

Jimmie Davis was one of the liveliest boys you ever saw. He could shoot with a bow and arrow and throw awfully straight with a sling. In summer time he ran barefooted and hunted - and fished - and swam. In winter he skated, hunted rabbits with his dog and threw snow balls. In fact, some of the neighbors thought Jimmie was a little terror; but he was not. He was just so full of life and fun that he could not be awake and be still a minute. He was really a very kind hearted little boy.

There were two very odd things about the big oak tree that grew in Jimmy's yard. One was that it made a strange noise when the wind blew, especially at night. Sometimes it would wake Jimmy's father and he often said he was going to cut it down but he never did. The other odd thing was that there were no limbs on the tree until it got away up above the house except at a place about as high as a second story window, a big limb grew right straight out. It was almost as big as a man's body. All the boys and girls of the town would gather and play in the shade on the hillside and they were always talking about what a nice limb that was to put a swing on. Ropes were very scarce and high priced and people did not have much money then, so Jimmy took the boys and they went to the woods and got a big wild grape vine.

The next thing was to get it fastened around the limb. The boys got a long pole and Jimmy climbed up to the limb, with a string in his mouth to pull up the vine. When he got astride of the limb and boosted himself along about ten feet, he came to something that fairly made his hair stand straight up. There was a nice trough or box-like hole cut in the limb. It was about eight inches wide and three feet long and over six inches deep, and in it was the skeleton of a little Indian boy or girl, laying there just perfect. Jimmy scampered down, told all his playmates and then ran for his papa, who got a long ladder and climbed up to see. Then all the little boys and girls climbed up, and everybody from the town came. Then Jimmy's father went down by the creek and got a big piece of bark and covered it over nice so the rain would not rain in on it any more.

died and he could not bear the thought of putting her in the ground, so he had climbed up and cut that place in the limb and laid her there, where she could swing in the breezes and the birds would sing to her.

That night the wind blew gently and Jimmy's room being upstairs on that side of the house, he heard the noise, but it was not a strange noise at all. It was "Tee he, tee he, tee he" and "oo, ho, oo, ho, la lee, la lee," and all just like a little Indian girl swinging and singing in the tree. At first he was a bit scared and got up easy and looked out at the window, but he could not see a thing but the big limb just swinging in the breeze. Every night when the breeze would blow Jimmy would hear the singing and laughing.

The fall of the year came and one night it turned cold suddenly and rained and it turned to sleet and the wind blew hard. Something waked Jimmy and he listened, but it was not singing and laughing he heard. It was crying and shivery wailing and screaming. He knew the little Indian girl was cold and scared, and he was scared too, and he cried, and crawled away down in his bed and covered up his head. Pretty soon he heard two piercing screams and then a big crash. Then everything was still. When he went out in the yard the next morning the big limb was laying on the ground all broken. Jimmy hunted all round and found two little copper nnger rings and some pretty beads.

Jimmy never heard any more singing and laughing in the tree after that, but he kept the rings and the beads to remember the little Indian girl that so often sang him to sleep.

The house Jimmy lived in is gone long ago and now Jimmy, who grew up to be a fine man. Mr. James Davis, is gone. All the other little boys and girls who played with him are gone too, Grandma Burk and Hines and Cones. I think Camilla White's great-grandma Buckles was one of the little girls who was helped up the ladder.

The big tree died and rotted away long ago, but if you ever go to Thorntown inquire for my friend, Theodore Van Eaton, and he will take you over back of the old Uncle Billy Roberts' home and show you where the tree stood, or Mr. McCurry, the clothier, can show you. It was about one square south of where his great-grandfather lived and was buried.

Here is another story. There was an Indian chief living at Thorntown who had a very beautiful daughter. Her name, as near as I can indicate the sound, was Wah-neh-te-mah-nah. It meant, some said, "Sunbeam in the Morning," and some said, "Rainbow in the Morning." She must have been something of a coquette, anyway there were two young Indian braves who were very much smitten with her. One named Tonawah lived in Thorntown and the other was a Shawnee who lived mostly near Shawnee Mound. The Thorntown Indians were Miamis and of course they did not like the Shawnees very well and would not have permitted them to go into the village to pay court, although the Shawnee went sometimes on pretended friendly visits, but really to see Wahnehtemahnah. When he wanted to visit Wahnehtemahnah, he would slip up into a thicket and whistle like a bird. She would be listening and would slip away and join him and they would go and spend the afternoon on the banks of Wolf creek about two miles west of the village. This creek was called Wolf creek (in Indian) because once when the Indian chief was fishing a hungry wolf attacked him and he caught it in his hands and held its head under the water until it was drowned.

The Shawnee Indian brave's name was a word meaning "black bass fish." He was named that because he caught a very large black bass fish when he was a very little boy. One summer afternoon when he had been visiting, Black Bass came back so close to the village that Tonawah saw him and drew his bow and shot just as Black Bass threw his tomahawk. The arrow pierced Black Bass' heart and the tomahawk buried its blade in Tonawah's brain, and both dropped dead. Wahnehtemahnah had run a little ways and stopped beside a big tree. When she saw both drop she screamed, dropped her bright shawl and ran. Other Indians hearing her scream came quickly, found the two dead, and her shawl. They hunted all night for her but did not find her until the next day. She had run south, circling around near where the Big Four depot now is, down the hill across Prairie creek, getting her moccasins wet, and to the Indian cemetery. There they found her lying dead with a long sharp thorn piercing her heart.

The Indians buried her there, then built a log pen about four feet high around the grave and squatted the dead Indian brave at the foot of the grave, with the arrow through his heart, and the other at the head of the grave with the tomahawk sticking in his head. Then they covered the pen with brush. The pen was still standing when my grandfather came to Indiana, but some of the logs were badly rotted. Several years later grandfather, whose first name was Joseph, and his brother Wesley, and another brother,

John, and James Smith, a brother-in-law, were hunting. They came by there, cut some more logs and rebuilt the pen. After that it was repaired with rails a few times. It was still there when I was a very little boy. I saw it and heard this story. It is all gone now.

If you ever go automobile riding to Thorntown, go west on Main street, past the fountain two squares, and down the street to the left about fifty or sixty feet, where the Indians killed each other, and over east in the second back yard is about where the tree stood that Wahnehtemahnah dropped her shawl by. Then you can ride out east across Prairie creek, up the hill, and a little farther on see on the left the old Indian grave yard. It has never been plowed. The grave is about half way along and west of two trees, if they still are standing. - and they are.

A Real Story Of 183O

Back in the early years of Thorntown, when the village was just on the border of civilization; at the time when the Red men made occasional visits to the old trading village of Kaweahkeungi, and took farewells of their hunting-grounds and the burial places of their fathers; there lived on Church street a family of pale-faces. It was the maternal grandparents of our worthy trustee elect, S. V. Titus. The front name of the pater-familias of the manor was George. His spacious cabin of two rooms stood on the north side of the street, between Vine and Market, just a little west of the home of our esteemed citizen Cal Graves. There were no frame buildings on this first street of the young town of that day, but here and there a log cabin, stretching from West street to the burial grounds of the Red men on what afterwards was known as the Curry Hill. These houses were all after the same pattern, with variations of the shape of the logs from round to hewn, and from one room to two or more with attics above. These grandparents' home was a little aristocratic for that day. It actually had a door made of boards, and a floor of boards and a fire place with chimney made of mud and sticks to carry off the smoke. Just back of the home a little to the northwest, was a gurgling spring called in the Indian tongue Kahwazakee, around which they often gathered from the excitement of the chase to quench their thirst. We can not stop to tell you how old and young gathered at the spring, and the papooses played, and the lithe maidens of the woods ran with bottles of hide, gourds and polished horns, and dipped them full to the brim of the coolingliquid. The white man made much of this spring afterwards. He curbed it, placed rock for it to bound laughingly over, and made cement tiling to lead it across the field north, to the track of the iron horse, to quench the thirst of the steed of iron when it speeded by. We are not so much concerned about the old spring, as we are the inmates of the cabin home. The spring was simply the attraction that led up to the more exciting events. It lured visitors to that spot, sacred to the memory of those who had quaffed of its cooling sparkles in the past. No Indian ever visited the old village from their new home on the banks of the Wabash, without visiting the old spring, and quenching his thirst from its sweet and refreshing waters. One bright morning in early spring before the buds had bursted their winter overcoats and thrown off their jackets and before the robin built its nest, George was from the home at some log rolling or cabin raising, and the cherub of the home, the mother of S. V. Titus was fast asleep in the artistic sugar trough cradle, that the father with adz and the skill of his own hands had hewed out of a large linn log. He had placed beneath it polished rockers upon which it was swung to and fro to lull to sleep the little one. All was quiet within and without. The babe was snugly tucked in the cradle soft anil warm and the busy housewife was about her morning work, when a glance through the partly opened door revealed to her the approaching line of Indians in single file coming from the spring to the home. Dreadful fear for the safety of her babe seized her. She quickly stepped to the door. Her first thought was to close and bolt it. The Indians were too close at hand. It would look like banging the door in their faces, which would be unkind and unhospitable. No pioneer would be guilty of such a breach of etiquette even to an Indian. She stood her ground at the entrance of her citadel ready to do and dare for its defense and for her innocent. The Indians lined up before the door. The mother's heart rose to her throat, almost smothered with fear. There stood the braves of the woods, clothed in buck-skin and trimmed with turkey feathers about the limbs, up the back with a cluster on the back of the head. There was Shaw-po-to-se-aw the medicine man, with his companions O-megh-qua, Wetche-ke-te-ta. Toth-te-non-ga, Ke-osa-osakun-ga, Ne-go-ta-kaup-wa and Wa-haw-ko-se-aw, Oseas and Mackinsas. There they stood around the door of the cabin silent, somber and savage look- tag. The pale mother in the doorway silent and white as marble with fear, regarded keenly their every movement. After a silence that seemed an age to the mother the medicine man broke it by opening the parley. Lt was in an unknown tongue, finally by signs and now and then a word of broken English it was made known that it was "Fire Water," that they wanted. The white man had bartered rum for their furs and taught them to drink it. They could not quench their thirst now with the sparkling water at the spring. The good mother made it known to them that she had no whiskey in the house. This disappointed them. They frowned, pow-wowed and gesticulated. She knew nothing of what they said except, she could see by their expression that they were displeased and disappointed, because she did not supply their needs with whiskey. They approached nearer the door and made it known to her that they wanted to enter and see for themselves. She withdrew a little though getting closer to her babe, and the medicine man who seemed to be the leader entered. The rest followed quickly after until the squad of eight were within. The mother instinctively sprang to the side of the cradle and there stood quaking with fear. The Red men peered with argus-eyes into every corner and when they failed to find what they inquired for, gathered around the cradle. The mother was speechless with fear, she could not even scream for help, silently the Indians stood. There was but a murmur of parley a short shrug or so, and the medicine man ventured to lift the covering from the child, and they all peered at it with expressions of wonder and admiration. The medicine man broke the silence in such a tender tone as to quell the fears of the mother. He ran his hand lightly over the sleeping innocence pronouncing incantations and blessing. It all ended with a few voluntary remarks of advice from the doctor, stating that she could never rear the papoose, if she cuddled and smothered it down with blankets, "too softly, no air, no sunshine, no strength, ugh: off! tumbley, jump, and no rappie all time." After these friendly admonitions the unwelcome callers retired from the cabin, to the great joy of the mother. When they were fairly out of sight she grabbed the unconscious child and ran swiftly to the nearest neighbors. There, out of breath she stammered out the story of her unwelcome visitors. The}-, it seems, had been misdirected, for on the street above, at the corner of West and Bow streets they found what they had sought in vain at the former home.

A Live Monu11Kxt

Adaline (Burk) Boyd was born 1809, in Massachusetts. Early in life her parents moved to Indiana, settling in Union county, on the banks of White river near a place known as Dunlapsville, a Presbyterian settlement in which at an early date was established a Presbyterian Academy, that attained considerable note in its day. At an early date Mrs. Burk came to Thorntown, with her young family and later was married to Boyd who passed away. For almost a generation she was familiarly known as grandmother Boyd. She was a strong character of more than usual power of thought and originality. She did her own thinking in social, political and religious lines. She passed four score year of active, industrious life before called to her reward in the Glory land.

In an item of her will, she provided that the residue of her savings, after settling all her debts, should go for the purpose of building and establishing a church home, for the Wesleyan Methodist church. Upon the settlement of her estate, there was paid into court for the board of trustees of said church organization at Thorntown, the sum of two hundred and thirty-one dollars. This money was safely cared for by said board of trustees and placed at interest until Thanksgiving week, 191 4, when it amounted to the sum of seven hundred and sixty-two dollars, to which was added one hundred and thirtyeight dollars, donated by the Wesleyan Methodist Conference and private individuals, making the sum of nine hundred dollars, which was paid for the local Friends church in Thorntown, which is to become' the home of the Wesleyan Methodists in this place. It is to be a perpetual living monument of the loving thoughtfulness and benevolence of Grandma Adaline Boyd. By her quiet unostentatious life she has set in motion an influence for good, which will live on and bear fruit for the Master, until the second coming of Christ, when he will gather his Saints into the Kingdom. Her body has mouldered into dust in the narrow chamber in the city of the dead, but her good works go on in their influence for the uplift of the world. By her will she set in motion an influence that evolves by compounding and gatheringpower, as it rolls toward eternity.

There is a lesson in this to the living. Surely death does not end all. The influence of our life goes on after we are silent in the tomb. We can think of our loved ones as they were to us as close companions. The world feels the impulse of their life for good or evil, as their acts proved to be, and the legacy of good or evil deeds that mark their doings. The legacy we leave to the world is all important, and should stimulate us to right and noble action. The appropriate tablet to hang upon the wall of the Wesleyan Methodist church in Thorntown, will teach coming generations, "Loving Remembrance of Adaline Boyd, for her thoughtful benevolence." Through her long life she toiled and economized, that she might be able in some way, to add to the comfort and happiness of those who would come after her departure.