DeKalb County, Indiana - Chapter 6: Reminiscences, 1914

Wesley Park S Tale

For the readers of this history there is preserved the personal narrative of Wesley Park, the first settler and founder of the city of Auburn, the present county seat. His account runs as follows :

"In the fall of 1835 George Stone, Hiram Johnston and myself left Licking county, Ohio, in a two-horse buggy to seek a home in what was then called the West. We went by way of Columbus, Sandusky, Maumee, Defiance, Fish Creek and Lima, to South Bend. We then returned to Lima, where Johnston and Stone settled and started a tannery. I returned to Fish Creek and entered land adjoining John Houlton's. I then returned to Ohio and stayed until February, 1836. Started to Indiana then with a drove of cattle and load of dried fruits, got to Lima, sold out and started, in company with John D. Howe, Esq., to the center of the new county, afterward called DeKalb, to locate a site for a county seat.

"We got to Pigeon river, and the same canoe upsetting, I swam over the stream. Howe came over in the canoe, swimming his horse alongside. Stayed all night at Glover's. Started in the morning on our journey and that night reached section 13, township 34 north, range 13 east (Union township now), and lay out in the woods. The snow was four inches deep. We kindled a fire and I peeled bark to lie down on, but Howe, being tired or lazy, or both, laid down on the snow. In the morning he had melted his whole length in the snow and was wet, but I was dry. I lay all night with my rifle by my side to be prepared for the wolves that howled around continually. After hunting a day for the best site, decided on the piece of land where Auburn now is. Entered the land, and laid out the town. I then put up a shanty, ten by twelve feet and cut a road through to Pleasant Lake ; brought through a cart load of goods with a yoke of oxen and a milk cow. Afterward Joseph Miller and I started from William Miller's, I with my cart and oxen and he with me to help cut the road, being nothing but a trace with the logs still in and too narrow for a cart, as will be hereafter noticed.

"My object was to get through by the way of Blair's mill to Fort Wayne for a load of provisions. It was afternoon before we started, and night overtook us near the little creek that crosses the Fort Wayne road near Mr. John Grube's. We had no provisions along, as we expected to get through to Blair's. The cow, however, that I brought through from Pleasant Lake, being used to following the team, was fortunately with us, and I milked her and told Miller that milk was good enough for me. Miller did not like to drink the new milk, but there was no alternative, so he took a good draught- It did not lie well on his stomach, and he soon threw it up. The next morning, after lying out through the night, we cut through to the mill and I went on to Fort Wayne and Miller returned to get his breakfast, no doubt with a good appetite.

"Getting back with my provisions, I set up tavern in my shanty. I did my own cooking, and was crowded with travelers and land hunters, who came to have me show them land to enter. One night I kept fifteen men who very nearly filled my hotel. Some lay on a shelf, and the rest on the ground under it, so that there was plenty of bed room. After eating up the first load of provisions. I went to Fort Wayne for another. On my return, the Little Cedar was so high that I had to swim my oxen and carry the load and cart by pieces over the creek on a log, as I had adopted as my motto : 'Go ahead.' Got back again finally to the hotel.

Arrived At The Site Of .Auburn

"I kept travelers, showed land, and erected a cabin eighteen by twenty feet, one and a half stories high, with a roof of rafters and clapboards. It stood on the lot close to the old water saw-mill. I then returned to Ohio and brought out my wife, Sophia, and my son, Amos, then a child. Launcelot Jugman and family also came with me. We all arrived at Auburn on the sixth dav of August, 1836. We laid down a few puncheons, and went to housekeeping. A few days' work completed our cabin.

"In the winter of 1836 the act passed the Legislature to organize DeKalb county. Littlefield, of Lagrange, Gilmore, of Steuben, and Robert Work, of Allen, were appointed commissioners to locate the county seat. I was appointed by the governor, sheriff of the new county, with authority to appoint the place for the elections in the few precincts in the county, and to receive and forward the returns. The result of the election is stated elsewhere.

I20 Dekalb County, Indiana

"As sheriff appointed, and afterward elected, I had no jail but the upper chamber of my cabin. I used to put prisoners up and then take away the ladder and tell them to stay there, and they always did so.

"The lower chamber was the court house. During the sitting of court it had to suspend until dinner was cooked. . This gave the judge time for a nap, which was very desirable, as he was generally fatigued and sometimes rather boozy. Charles Ewing was the president judge. He was a brother to the celebrated fur traders, W. G. and G. W. Ewing. Judge Yates has been spoken of as an odd genus of a backwoodsman. One day he got 'tight,' and sentenced Jo. Bash ford to receive a whipping and swore that as he was the court and had passed sentence, he would inflict the penalty. As the judge was making toward the criminal with this avowed intention, I seized him and gave him a whirl, told him plainly that if the court persisted in inflicting the penalty threatened, the sherifif would put the court 'up the ladder.' Upon this, the court acknowledged the authority of the sheriff, and adjourned peacefully.

Trying Times

"Will you allow me now to go back to the winter of 1836 and 1837 and relate some instances of that hard winter? There were now about thirty families in the county and many of them suffered severely, having to bring all of their provisions from Fort Wayne or the northern prairies, with scarcely anything that could be called roads. At one time our corn cost us three dollars per bushel. I saw teams that had to travel seventy-five miles for provisions. I never drove more than sixty miles for com, beyond Fort Wayne np the St. Mary's river. It was a trying time for me and my wife, but she was always cheerful. I took the rheumaitsm and lay several weeks. In December the snow fell two feet deep.

"Emigrants were still coming in. A man, woman and child left Pleasant Lake with a wagon and a yoke of cattle to go ten miles south of Auburn. One of their oxen mired down in Smithfield township, eight miles north of Auburn. There was then no house between Steubenville and Auburn. The mired ox died, and they turned the other loose and started for Auburn afoot, carrying the child. The waters were then high, and they had to wade the small streams. About nine o'clock at night they reached our cabin, with clothes frozen above the waist. We gave them dry clothes and a warm supper and kept them until the roads were broken.

"A few moments after the arrival of these sufiferers, a traveler came in and told us that a man and a boy were out in the trail about six miles in a suffering condition, not being able to strike a fire, and the man so frozen as to be unable to travel. On receiving this information, Wesley White and William Palmer got up the pony and started for the sufferers. They found the man on section 9, township 34, range 13. (We always counted by sections as the trail was very crooked). They got him on the pony and brought him in about midnight, frozen to the knees ; yet he contended that he was not cold. We got his legs into a tub of spring water, and thus drew out the frost. But the boy must be saved. The old man offered us fifty cents to bring him in, which led me to administer him a severe rebuke.

"I told him if the boy was not worth more than fifty cents, he was not worth bringing in. He was then ten miles out, in snow two feet deep, among swamps filled with water and swollen streams.

"They proved to be Mr. Graden and son, of Noble county. They left home in pursuit of cattle. The snow commenced falling, and they traveled on through Fairfield township and until they struck the trace and knew not which way to turn. They were well provided for at the cabin and in a few weeks were able to return home.

"After thus saving the life of others, he was drowned in Elkhart river, west of Albion. William Palmer was a rather mischievous old bachelor, and loved to play pranks on the Indians, who used to annoy us considerably, although they furnished us with venison, bear meat, turkeys, cranberries, etc., for money or such things as we had to exchange.

"Thv used frequently to apply to me to take away 'bad Indian' whenever any of their number misbehaved. After the whites had created in them the unnatural appetite, they were very fond of whiskey. One day a poor squaw came to my house and begged hard for whiskey. Palmer took the pepper-sauce bottle and handed it to her; she took a very hearty drink, but as soon as she had removed the bottle from her lips, she began to spit, sputter, salaver and holler 'pizen ! pizen !' while Bill Palmer, the perpetrator of the joke, rolled and laughed to his hearts content. After her sufferings were over, I and my good Sophia took a good laugh at her, and she never troubled us again.

Indian Customs

"The Pottawatomies and Miamis were the principal tribes in DeKalb county. Their manner of burying the dead was to dig a grave eighteen inches deep, put in the dead, cover with leaves, and then build a tight pen of poles over the grave. Sometimes they cut down a tree, split off a piece from the top of the log, dug out a trough, put in the body, and then covered it up closely with poles. They burnt the leaves around these burying places every fall, to keep the fire in the woods from getting to them. They disliked very much to have their dead interfered with, yet it was done by unprincipled whites. It was not uncommon to see their graves opened, the bones scattered around, and the skull of an Indian set out in the log in full sight.

"The spring of 1837 was very gladly hailed by the settlers, after stemming the storms and suffering the privations of a hard winter. During this season emigrants began to come in more plentifully and several cabins went up in Auburn. I had given one-third of the lots to the county, receiving no compensation but the assurance that it would be permanently the county seat. In most cases, too, I gave a lot to eveiy settler building thereon. This year, 1837, I and Mr. Ogden built the saw mill. The town continued steadily to improve, and has been blessed with good inhabitants with few exceptions. Much of the land in the county was taken up by speculators. This hindered its settlement to a considerable degree for some years. The crash of banks in 1837-8 was severely felt and many suffered for want of food and raiment. The years 1836-7 were healthy seasons; 1838 was more sickly; 1839 still more so, and from that time until 1850, there was more or less of bilious complaints every season. Since 1850 both town and country have been generally healthy."

From Manuscript Of S. W. Widney

From a pamphlet published about sixty years ago by Rev. S. W. Widney, entitled "Pioneer Sketches," the following is quoted: "Many of the settlers had never seen an Indian before coming here; but they had heard and read much of their savage barbarity. During the years 1835-6-7-8, many of these red men still lingered in their native forests, generally in large companies or camps. They were an object of terror to many of the settlers, especially to the women and children, as singly or in caravans, they passed from one camp to another. To add to the terror at first, the screams of a great owl unknown in the east, but abounding in the western woods, were taken for the whoops of savages.

"Well do I remember a night in the fall of 1837, spent in terror of Indians. I had been in the county six months, but as yet had seen very few of them. My widowed mother, with six children younger than myself, (and I not yet seventeen years of age), bought and settled on a farm. Here an Indian trail crossed the river, and on the other side was a house where liquor was sold. Soon after nightfall, the real whoops were heard away in the south woods. The sound grew continually nearer, and increased in volume, till fears pictured a whole army of savages coming to murder us. We put out the lights, fastened the doors, and concealed ourselves in different parts of the house. Soon the Indians were tramping around the house, and their torches gleaming through the windows. We almost held our breath with fear. Soon, however, they passed by, down to the river, and taking our canoes crossed over, and their whoops died away, drowned in the Indian's favorite beverage, good old rye. But our rest was spoiled for the night, as we continually dreaded their return.

"Afterward, however, we became better acquainted with the poor Indian, as a camp of some forty men, squaws and papooses spent four or five weeks in their tents within twenty rods of the house, visiting us, or we them, daily. The men spent their time hunting, dressing their game, gambling, or lying around the fire like dogs. The women chopped the wood, made the fires, and waited on their lords and masters while the children shot birds with their l^ows and arrows. Joe Richardville, son of the celebrated chief, was in the camp, dressed partly like an Indian and partly in the European costume. His college education failed to make anything out of him but an Indian."

Flood Waters

Again quoting from Rev. Widney: "I remember far back beyond the flood. Many of the first settlers along the river built their cabins on the bottoms on account of the rich, deep soil, so inviting for corn and potatoes. Now it happened that St. Joe, notwithstanding his saintship, had a mighty trick of 'getting high' occasionally, and on such occasions, took a regular spree, transcending all bounds of propriety, and scattering and destroying things in general. It was in the winter of 1838, about the first of January, when we were dwelling securely in the neighborhood of this mild looking saint, that he unexpectedly 'imbibed' too largely, and advanced upon us, raging- and foaming terribly, without any provocation whatever. The river rose until it overflowed its banks and surrounded the house. This alarmed us some, but it seemed to be nearly at a stand, and we hoped that it would soon retreat. But instead of falling, it continued to rise until the loose floor began to float. We then raised the floor about six inches, being sure that the water would rise no more. We were doomed, however, to be again disappointed. The water still rose. Being midwinter, we had all of our fire wood to 'boat' in with our canoe, which we kept cabled at the cabin, and we managed still to keep a fire above the water.

"The night after raising the floor we retired to rest, and the next morning found the floor all afloat again, so we concluded to embark for safe quarters. Running the canoe into the water, we took the passengers from the bed, and, packing everything which the water could injure, above its reach, we crossed the raging river to sojourn with friends until after the flood. The water rose until it was two and a half feet deep in the cabin, and then began to subside. Just then a severe freeze set in, leaving the entire bottoms covered with a sheet of thin ice. When the river got within its banks again, we returned throughout the ice, and took up our residence in the cabin. Other settlers besides us suffered from this saintly freak, but we have not the particulars."

From The Manuscript Of W. H. Dills

"We can very well remember seeing these early settlers and their families with their white-covered wagons, the wife or daughter driving, the father and boys following and driving, with the aid of a dog, a cow or two, sometimes a few sheep, all wending their way toward the setting sun, or plunging into the forest, and hauling up or stopping upon a tract of land, upon which not a tree had been cut. and where for ages the rays of the orb of day had not penetrated, amidst the chorus of the feathered songsters of the grove and the silence of the night, disturbed only by the hootings of the owl, or the indescribable bowlings of hungry wolves. There you, or the fathers of you, who came in early times, halted their wagons, which contained all they had on earth ; and there today you will find comfort, luxury and ease.

"Before reaching that final resting place weeks and months had passed in reaching the goal, following Indian trails scarcely wide enough to admit of the passage of a wagon, no bridges, dangers to be encompassed on every side, the early settler was of necessity his own sentinel, and upon himself relied for protection and safety. The trails would sometimes seem to run out - come to an end. Sometimes they would divide and create doubt as to the course that should be pursued. He had no compass and could not tell the cardinal points, but by an examination of trees he could tell the north side of them by the heaviest growth of moss or bark, and thereby determine his course. When night came ere he reached his destination, by the side of the trail, where water and grass were sufificient, he would build a fire, without the aid of matches, by the side of some huge log, and there prepare their meal, his wife and little ones retiring to sleep in the wagon, and he, wrapped in a blanket, on the leaves under it, with his faithful dog on one side and his trusty rifle on the other, there seek repose and rest, with as much confidence of safety and exemption from injury as you upon your downy couches, within bolted doors.

"y\fter reaching his land, purchased of the government at $1.25 per acre, or from some speculator for $2.00, $3.00 or $4.00 per acre, the pioneer finds for a time that his neighbors are few and far between. With difficulty he at last succeeds in building his rude little cabin and in clearing off a few acres, by cutting down all the trees eighteen inches or less in diameter, and girdling all the others, which will give him a short supply of corn and vegetables.

"The privations of the early settler were great, but often their perils were still greater. Diseases, indigenous to a new country, of which he had previously no knowledge or experience, and generally malarial in their character, were certain to overtake him and his family. The massive foliage of the giant trees through which the sun scarcely penetrated, and the black soil vegetation, and the decayed vegetable matter everywhere abounding, generated vast columns of miasma. No physician or drug store was probably within twenty miles, and himself and family were racked almost to death with the shakes, or scorched with raging fevers. Until acclimated by a residence of from two to five years, and sometimes longer, the early settler was yearly visited with attacks of fever and ague, and felt thankful, indeed, if in the fall seasons he did not have an attack of bilious or intennittent fever. Snake bites, broken or cut limbs, and rheumatism from his frequent exposure were of frequent occurrence, and no medical aid at hand.

"Even in health their privations seem almost incredible to us. Lumber was not to be had at any price : mills were distant, and what roads there were, were almost impassable. A journey of weeks, sometimes, leaving the wife and children, was necessary to obtain the necessities of life. Families were almost driven to the verge of stan^ation, living for weeks on potatoes, wheat bran, and I have heard, on beach-bark and milk. The private history of the sufferings, privations and heroic endurance of many families in early times in this county has not been, nor will it ever be, written.

"In early days we asked not whether the new comer was a Whig or a Democrat, Jew or Gentile, Methodist or Baptist, rich or poor; all we wanted to know was that he was a neighbor and a man. Was he a good fellow, truthful, honest and charitable? If he had not these qualities, he did not stay long enough in our midst to become an old settler. * * *

"At the risk of wearying you, I will name a few of those veterans who were the foremost men of the county in 1845, but who have gone to their long homes. Let us speak reverently of them. Their faults were human, but their good qualities and many virtues will commend them to our consideration. I will give them by townships in the usual order, leaving out Keyser, which was not then formed:

"Butler - The Brooks, Henry Clark and sons, George Belong, the Embrys, Abraham and Charles Fair, Nathaniel Fitch, the Greggs, the Bells, the Hoffmans, Hogues, Holbrooks, Jacksons, Lungs, Millers, Rodenbaughs, Reeves, Shulls, Simons, Surfaces, Natts and Wellers.

"Nem'ille - The Bartletts, Dodges, Delongs, Ellises, Lewises, Lawrences, Murphys, Rogers, Platters, Strongs, Steeles, Thomases, and Waldons. "Staiford - Th& Barbers, Coats, Christoffels. De Forrests, Deihls, Headleys, McDaniels, Roses, Strohls, Shoubs, Schofields, Websters and Wanemakers.

"Richland - The Bangs, Cowleys, Clays, Calkins, Daileys, Dewitts, Feaglers, Greens, Hardys, Moodys, McMillens, Pennells, Rogers, Shulls, Showers, Treshes and Weirocks.

"Troy - The Burdicks, Gathers, Casebeers, Golls, Emersons, Eddys, Helwigs, Jennings, Kniselys, Lameds, McGlures. McClellans, McDaniels, Stearns. Willards, Waydleichs and Zimmermans.

"The men whom I have named, who came here prior to January i, 1846, came before the period of railroads, before canals were dug, and many of them before the roads were cut and bridges built. Just think of it, that thirty-five years ago the residents of our county had never seen a railroad car, and we have over a hundred miles of railroad track in the county today, and two hundred trains daily through it. There was not then in the county a steam engine ; there was not one cook stove in a dozen families.

"I recollect very distinctly the first threshing machine. It indeed was a beauty. It did not even separate the grain from the chaff and straw. It was brought into the county by John Zimmerman, who then resided on the Houk farm, in Jackson township. In fact, it would now be a novelty, and, as it did then, would now draw crowds when set to work; and, to use a homely expression, it was the 'biggest thing out.' Instead of being several weeks in flailing, tramping and winnowing out a hundred bushels of wheat, the farmer, with that threshing machine, could thresh out that quantity in a day, and then take his time to run it through the fanning mill. And when he had the wheat ready for market, then he would have to take about three days to carry a load of twenty-five or thirty bushels to Fort Wayne and sell it for fifty or sixty cents a bushel. Corn had a value then proportioned to wheat, the same as now. Pork then ranged at one dollar and a half to two dollars per hundred pounds.

"Even in early days, when the pioneers were undergoing the privations I have spoken of, they had a very large amount of the real pleasures of life; and when an opportunity afforded, it was enjoyed with a relish equally as well as now. It certainly was true enjoyment to help a neighbor raise a house or a barn, do his logging, have quilting and sewing bees, dance on the puncheons in the cabins, take your girl up behind you on horseback and carry her through the woods, six, eight or ten miles to some gathering ; and she would have to hold on awfully tight or she would be brushed off the horse by the limbs or trunks of the trees. Think of the making of sugar, hunting bee trees, gathering cranberries, wild plums, cherries, grapes, crab-apples, all kinds of nuts and ginseng. Think of the excellent hunting and fishing there was here then ; all kinds and in large quantities were the fish, wild fowls and wild animals."

A Costly Trip

Cyrus Smith, the hero of travels, in search of unentered land, although ill at the time, set out in December, 1837, with a yoke of oxen, for Gilead, Michigan. Rains had swollen the streams and he was obliged to lay over every other day from sickness, yet he reached his goal, got eight bushels of corn, and started for the Vermont mills or Orland. A cold spell set in, snow fell fast, the winds rose, and a tree falling before him, he narrowly escaped its limbs, turned aside to go around it, became bewildered, and for hours drove on through the openings. The clouds cleared to the west, and he saw the sun setting, and struck out in that direction. He found the road he had left in the morning three miles in advance of his unfortunate diversion, and passed the night and the next day at Deacon Stocker's. Leaving his corn at the mill, he went to Tull's mill, near White Pigeon prairie and returned with fifteen bushels of smutty wheat. He remained here three days sick, a third waiting for the grist. Finally, starting home, he had to leave his wagon when half a mile from home, turn the oxen loose and foot it in. The eleventh day since leaving home he got back his wagon. His grist, not pricing the corn, cost him in cash, forty-five dollars.

A Night Of Suffering

In the winter of 1837-8, a Mr. Osburn started from where Hicksville, Ohio, had just been laid out, with an ox team, to go to mill at Fort Wa3rne. Returning to the east side of the St. Joseph river he was overtaken by night above where Leo later stood. Having had to wade into the creeks, and break ice before his oxen, his clothes were wet, and it was freezing severely. Onward, however, he made his way, through the snow and darkness, on a stoiTny winter night, until he began to feel that he was freezing.

Leaving his slow team in the road, he then started, hoping to reach Mr. Brant's across the river from where Spencerville now is, but soon found his legs becoming so stiff that he could no longer walk. Knowing that his life was at stake, he then crawled on his hands and knees about a mile, and until he found that his strength was too far gone to proceed in this way. He now commenced crying for help, and Mr. Brant's dog hearing his voice, commenced barking; and some of the people going out to see what was the trouble, were led by the dog to the poor sufferer, about a mile off, and he was borne into the house.

"Well, a New York dandy, better acquainted with books and pavements than with the 'backwoods' life or character, concluded to visit the West and see 'the natives.' As he was riding along on a cold day in the winter, when sleighing was good, in his fine sleigh, wrapped up in his 'buffalo,' with his greatcoat on, his fur cap tied down over his ears, and his fur gloves up to his elbows, he passed one of these frontier school houses. It was 'recess', and the teacher and some of the bigger boys were out at the side of the house knocking some squirrels off a tall hickory ti-ee with a rifle. The dandy reined! up his horse a few minutes and as he saw the squirrels drop one after another, perpetrated the following parody on the above oft quoted couplet of Thompson :

Abram Fair S Narrative

Abram Fair, one of the eight first settlers of Butler township, writes as follows : "Our plan was to come out - build cabins - make a little beginning, and then return to our old homes, in Montgomery county, Ohio, to winter and bring on the families in the spring. We brought provisions enough with us to last till our return, excepting meat - calculating to kill deer enough to supply that. In this, however, we were mistaken. We found deed quite scarce in those woods that fall. One day, Andrew Surface found a hollow tree (on Black creek where Peter Simon's ashery later stood) filled with honey, into which a bear had gnawed a hole and helped himself to as much as he wanted. On cutting the tree we found what was left of Bruin's dinner, six gallons of honey. The first fair day after this, we found two bee trees, cut them, and took the honey. We, eight, ate all the honey we wanted for twenty days (and we had little to eat except the honey and bread) and on returning to Montgomery county, we had twenty-one gallons of strained honev left.

A Coon Story

"After finding the bee trees, Andrew Surface found a hollow tree with two 'coons' in it, and cutting them out, he brought them to our shanty. We took the hides off, and hung the meat out in the frost over night, and in the morning, Charley Grouse, who was our cook, prepared them for our breakfast. Being rather meat-hungry, we all ate heartily of them, except John Surface, who declared he would starve first - though he ate some of the gravy. After breakfast, we all went at cutting and hewing logs and making clapboards for William Surface's cabin. John and I went to sawing a large oak for clapboards. John didn't pull the saw very strongly. 'Ah,' said I to him 'You didn't eat coon or you could have sawed better.' Presently he thought the saw went too hard and that he must have the iron wedge from the shanty to drive in the kerf. My father, Peter Fair, was lying in the shanty and John supposed he was asleep. So he went to the skillet where there was a quarter of a 'coon' left from breakfast, and taking off the lid, he took up the meat, and after smelling it awhile, applied his teeth and stripped the bone in short meter. All this time my father lay pretending to be asleep, but struggling to keep from laughing. When John returned and took hold of the saw again, I remarked to him, that he must have either been eating coon or smelling of it, he pulled so much stronger. When Grouse

Pioneer Dimensions

Abram Fair, the author of the above, was a splendid type of pioneer. We read how many of the brave settlers perished under the hardships incident to opening up the country, but listen to Fair's own words of his experiences and the result : "I was twenty-two years of age when I moved into the township (Butler), twenty- four years ago. I then weighed one hundred and sixty pounds, and my wife one hundred and forty. Now I weigh two hundred and ten, and my wife two hundred. We have had eleven children born in the township, and nine are still living. In the twenty-four years I have not lost as many hours by sickness. I am now six feet four and one half inches high, and there never has been cleared land enough in DeKalb county to throw me down on."

John N. Miller was one of the first settlers in Wilmington township. His pioneer experiences are very interesting. Near the year i860, he wrote the following concerning them :

"In the winter of 1836-7, I took a job of chopping for Mr. Lytle, who had sold out where he first settled, and had entered the tract of land since owned by the late William Pryor, in Stafford township. The job was on the river bottoms, where the timber was very heavy - huge oaks and elms, with enormous tops, being rather plenty to get along fast, as I had to take down all the timber, and cut it up ready for logging. I only got four or five dollars (I do not now remember distinctly the wages), and was to take my pay in potatoes, pork, beans, etc. For potatoes, I paid $1 per bushel; for pork, 16 cents per pound; and other things in proportion. The price of chopping was low, and that of the articles of pay high ; yet I could not do better, as provision must be had. While I kept busy on my job, I could just about get provisions enough to keep in the bare necessaries of life, so far as eating was concerned; but I had no time to be sick, and no rest but the Sabbath. One cold March evening, after chopping hard all day, I took a bushel of potatoes and 17 or 18 pounds of pork on my shoulder, and started for home, about dusk. The distance I had to travel along a blind trail, through the darkness and brush, was about six miles. Coming to Buck creek, over which a small limber log was placed, I undertook to walk it with my load, but fell off in the water, which was high. Then I waded through the balance of the creek, getting very wet. Cold, wet and tired, I pursued my journey with my heavy load, until the long miles were passed, and I set down my pork and potatoes in my cabin.

"The worst part of the tale is, that Lytle was not satisfied with my doing the job so cheap, and taking the pay in high priced trade; but he actually moved the stakes first set; so that the lines might take in several large elms that were just outside of the job ; and, besides, wanted me to chop up to a curving brush fence, which ran from stake to stake, on one side of my square job, including about a quarter of an acre more than the straight line agreed upon. My job being finished, as agreed upon, including, too, to the elms fraudulently brought in, I went to Lytle in his house, to demand a settlement, and the balance of my pay ; but he refused to pay unless I chopped up to the brush fence. This, under the circumstances, with my hands covered with blisters from hard and incessant chopping (a kind of labor I was not accustomed to) ; this I say, provoked me almost beyond endurance, and I told him I should take it out of his hide, right then and there. I was making towards him. His wife screamed, and Lytle turned it off with a laugh, and said he would pay me and thus the matter ended."

This Lytle was known among the settlers as a hard customer. Very profane and with little conscience, he ever failed to recognize the rights of others. Miller tells another story of the man :

"I used to go down to Lytle's sometimes on Sunday afternoon, to be there on Monday morning, to commence my job. Well, one afternoon, Lytle, being an excellent boatman, asked me to take a little ride on the river in his canoe. I consented, and tried to help him navigate the craft, but was very awkward at the business. This provoked him, and he let out such a volley of oaths at me, as I had not been accustomed to listen to tamely. In the midst of his imprecations, he set down his pole, with more than usual energy, and smack it went into two pieces, while he was leaning on it with all his weight - plunge went Lytle head foremost into the deep, cold river. I laughed, of course, and he turned in the water, and threatened to upset the canoe. I seized a paddle, and told him if he undertook it, I would split his head. Being in a cold element, he soon cooled down and came out peaceably.

A Long Trail For Flour

"In the spring of 1837, I had lent William Rogers half a barrel of flour, for, though six miles apart, we were neighbors, as was usual at that time. I expected that it would be returned before needed; but the bottom of the flour sack stared me in the face before it arrived. Getting up one morning, I found only flour enough for one small cake. I told my folks to bake it and eat it, while I went for the lent flour. It was six miles to Rogers, and but a 'trace' for a road. I set out early, afoot, and barefoot at that, and made good speed, thoughts of breakfast spurring me on, until I came to a swamp, round which the trace wound. Thinking to gain time, I struck across, expecting to find the place where the trace came round ; but, the morning being cloudy, I missed the course, and the trail. I traveled on rapidly, however, in what I supposed to be the right direction, until the sun broke out, and I found that it was about noon, and I was only a mile from home ! I quickly sought the trace again, and passed down it at a rapid rate, until I reached Rogers, where I got something to eat. Rogers proposed that if I left the flour, he would bring it on a horse the next day, but I knew this would not answer our wants. So I told him I could carry it, and taking the hundred weight of flour on my shoulder, I trudged back, the whole six miles, without once laying it down. On one occasion the Coatses, Roses and myself, being out of breadstuff, held a consultation as to where we should go to get corn. I was for going to Fort Wayne, but they thought best to go to the North Western prairies. They started to the prairies and I sent $10 along. They were gone ten days, and my money brought me ten bushels of corn, the milling and hauling of which cost me ten more. So my meal cost me $2 per bushel, and much of it rotten, as there had been a frost on the 29th of the preceding August, killing the corn on these prairies, leaving it too green to keep without rotting.

A Hard Journey

"Mr. Altenburg and Wals\\orth were among the early settlers in the vicinity of Auburn. They moved in together and left Steubenville. in Steuben county, on the morning of the fourth of November, 1838, in the midst of a very heavy fall of snow, which continued all day. Having a narrow, blind, crooked track to follow, without a house for nine miles, the snow flakes falling so fast as to bewilder the traveler, and, at some times, weighing down the bushes across the track, it became necessary for one o{ the men to walk before the teams, to find the wav, and remove the bushes overhanging it. They also had some stock to drive, and their help being rather scarce, the women were under the necessity of walking, and assisting to drive them. The snow being soft, and hanging on the bushes, those on foot became completely wet. On, on the slow ox teams passed, through snow and mud, along the crooked, narrow path, until night came on, and still all around was a bleak, snow-clad forest. They began to think of lying in their wagons for the night, but having no way of making fire, and nothing for their teams or stock, and the women and children being frightened by the howling of the wolves around them, they drove on in the darkness, occasionally stalling against the trees oh the side of the track. At length, one of the teams and the wagon got entirely out of the way, and so entangled among the trees and logs that the latter had to be left. Hitching lx)th teams to one wagon, they drove on until they began to think they must be near to the only dwelling between Steubenville and Auburn, Isaac B. Smith's. Stopping the teams, Mr. Altenburg proposed that all should unite in one desperate yell in order to find whether any human being was near. Loud and shrill arose that cry on the midnight air, but the loud howl of a pack of wolves, whose name appeared to be legion, was the only reply. After holding their breath in silence for awhile, Mr. Altenburg proposed that they tune their throats anew, and pitch their voices a note or two higher, and e^'cn pinch the baby (later Mr. Henry Altenburg), that he might join his voice with theirs. This effort was successful, and Mr. Smith came to their rescue with a light, and welcomed them to the hospitality of his little cabin, for, although about full already, he still had room for two families.

"The next morning, bringing up the wagon left in the rear, they started on, and succeeded in driving all of three miles through mud and snow before dark, reaching a little board shanty pvit up by Wesley Park for two men to lodge in, who were building a bridge over Cedar creek, where Uniontown now is. During the day they caught a coon, and on it they feasted the following morning, the two families and the two bridge builders having somehow contrived to stow themselves away for the night in the little shanty. In the morning the question was how to get down the high steep bank of the creek with the loaded wagons. This feat was accomplished by running poles under the body of the wagon and between the spokes of each wheel, so as to lock them all, and then hitching a yoke of oxen to the tongue to hold back, and another yoke to the hind part of the wagon to pull back, the oxen hitched behind, making, of course, a desperate effort to prevent being dragged down.

More Adversities

"On Friday, May 27, 1837, in the afternoon, Isaac B. Smith, Cyrus Smith and Joseph Belong, with their families, arrived on the hill where Mr. Smith's cabin later stood. This was in Smithfield township. There was not even a shanty or wigwam then. To keep off the night dews, they cut forks and driving four of them in the ground, arid laying poles on them, covered them with brush. Under these they lay on the ground, on Friday night, and on Saturday put up a cabin such as three men could raise, to the joists - and again lay under the brush that night. The next morning they discovered an unwelcome bedfellow, in the fonn of a "massasogga," or black rattlesnake, and, not being very much disposed to share their bed with these natives, they went at it on Sunday morning, and "cobbed" up the cabin, and covered one side with black ash bark peeled from the adjacent trees, and, fixing poles in the crevices between the logs, laid their beds some feet above the ground, so that Mr. Massasogga might have the ground to himself. On Monday they covered the other side of the cabin and the joists with bark, and carrying in some pole "sleepers," laid a puncheon floor. By the time the floor was laid, the joists were found to be so low that even a woman could not walk straight under them. Whatever may be thought of cabin raising on Sunday, it must be remembered that 'necessity knows no law.' It seemed fortunate that the cabin was finished as soon as it was, for no sooner was the bark roof laid than it began to rain, and for twenty days there was scarcely one that was not more or less rainy. In this cabin, sixteen by eighteen feet, the three families lodged together for two months, and then Mr. Belong moved back to Pleasant lake and Cyrus Smith put up a cabin for himself.

"On leaving Ohio, Mr. Smith had boxed up five busliels of potatoes, and among them had packed his pots and kettles not wanted on the road, and sent the box with other goods by public conveyance to Adrian, Michigan. He did not get them to his cabin until about the first of July, and on openingthe box, found them awfully smashed up by the iron ware. He thought it was now too late to plant them, but Mr. Park advised him by all means to do so. He planted them on the 8th and gth of July, and in the tall dug eighty-six bushels from the five bushels of mangled seed.

A Mill Trip With Ague

"In July following his settlement, Mr. Smith took the ague, and had it with but little intermission until the June following. In December. 1837, he had it so se\erely each alternate day that he was unable to be about. On his well day, he could be around, but was very weak. Getting out of breadstuff, it became necessary that, sick as he was, he should go in quest of some. So, yoking up his oxen, he started for the town of Gilead, Michigan, six miles beyond Orland, or 'the Vermont settlement,' as it was then called. It had rained much and the streams were swollen. He made his way along, however, lying by, sick every other day, until finally he reached Gilead, where he got eight bushels of corn, and started back to the Vermont mills, in the settlement of this same name. It had now turned 'cold as Greenland,' and was blowing fiercely while the air was filled with the descending snow. It was yet early in the morning, and he had gone but three-fourths of a mile on the road to the mill, when the wind blew a tree down across the road, almost brushing the oxen's heads. To get around the trees, he turned out of the road, expecting to come right in again, but failed to do so, and, getting bewildered amid the falling snow, he drove on through the openings, as near as he could in the direction of the mills - on - on - on - for hour after hour, and still no road nor mill was found.

"Mr. Smith had on his head a palm leaf hat, that had been a fine one, but was now the worse for wear. While traveling, bewildered, through the openings, a whirling blast whisked it from his head, and he last saw it careening on the wings of the wind - rising higher and higher until it was lost to sight in a cloud of snow. Having a 'comforter' on his neck, he drew the end of it over his head, and traveled on. Thus the time passed, in continual traveling through the cold, stormy day, and the failing light told the lost man that night was near, and he began to picture to himself the long cold night that was to follow, in all probability the last that he should ever see - or, if he should survive, - a morning of distressing sickness, to follow the night of suffering; and he all alone in the snow clad forest. Just then the cloud broke in the west and he could see the place where the sun set, and striking in that direction, in about eighty rods he found the road he had left in the morning, and the bridge across 'crooked creek,' about half way from Gilead to the mills. Thus he had advanced not more than three miles during the whole day of wear}? traveling. Place yourself in his circumstances, reader, and imagine, if you can, his joyful feelings in seeing the road again.

In an hour he was safely housed, at the residence of Deacon Stocker, father to Leland Stocker of Angola. Here he lay sick the next day, and on the day following left his corn at the mill, and started for Tull's mill near the White Pigeon prairie, where he obtained fifteen bushels of very smutty wheat, which he brought to the Vermont mills also. Here at Deacon Stocker's again, he spent three days, two of them too sick to travel, and the third waiting for his grist. Finally, starting for Pleasant lake, he lay there during a sick day, and on the next day, got a man to go with him to break ice in the streams. By dint of hard work all day, they got within a half mile of home; and had to leave the wagon on the trail - turn out the oxen in the woods - and 'foot it' in. The next day, being the eleventh since leaving home, he got his wagon home. His grist, not counting the price of the com, which was paid as he moved in, cost him in cash, forty-five dollars."

Old Time Extradition

During the years 1850 to 1854, W. K. Streight served as sheriff of DeKalb county. One of the incidents related in regard to his term was of the time he went hunting in the creek bottoms while court was in session. He stayed out all day, and in the evening, toward sundown, brought in a nice deer. He was informed, immediately upon his return, that the prisoner had escaped while he, the sheriff, was wading through creek bottoms. Streight saddled his horse and rode to a notorious "hang-out" some distance in the woods, run by Old Sile Doty. There he found his prisoner, in company with seven other men. The sherifif collared his man and calmly rode back to town without molestation.

Another time he wanted a man who had escaped and had taken refuge near Hicksviile, Ohio. Streight journeyed to that place and called on the sherifif there, A. P. Edgerton.

"Never mind the state line," Edgerton instructed," just bend it east till it gets beyond the man you want, then take him, and after you are gone. I'll bend the line back again for you."

The Last Deer

The last deer in DeKalb county was seen in March, 1893. He was full grown buck, having horns of four or five prongs. The deer was not captured, and it is supposed that he escaped from a nearby circus.

From The Manu.Script Of J. R. Skilling

My father, Michael Skilling, moved with his family from Richland county, Ohio, to DeKalb county, Indiana, in November, 1846, and settled in Richland township, three quarters of a mile west of the present town of Sedan, on a piece of land which he purchased from the government in 1843. They were sixteen days on their journey in a covered wagon which was motored by a team of oxen and one horse in the lead. The wagon furnished the family lodging at night, and shelter from rain. The cooking was done by camp fires and the fire was kindled from a spark that was produced by striking a flint stone on a piece of steel over a tinder box provided for that purpose. I remember well the modes and customs of the pioneers of DeKalb county. The primitive condition of this county was a wild forest of various species of timber of excellent quality, consisting of black and white walnut, yellow and white poplar, white and red oak, white ash, blue ash and black ash, wild cherry, red elm, hickory elm and swamp elm, red and white beach, sugar and maple, and linden which was designated by the early settlers as "baswood."

Swamps And Animals

This was a verj^ swampy country in early days, containing many tamarack swamps, densely covered with beautiful tall straight tamarack or "hackmatack" trees. Many of the swamps abounded with huckleberries and cranberries in abundance, for which there was no market, but the new settlers had the pleasure of harvesting all they required for their own consumption. The woods and swamps were well stocked with venomous rattlesnakes and the people were always in fear of coming in contact with these dreaded reptiles, although they invariably give warning by the sound of their rattles when approached. Although there were quite a number of people who were victims to the stroke of the fangs of these poisonous serpents, we never heard of a case that proved fatal as the people were educated in the treatment of such cases and were provided with antidotes to give treatment to all patients w ho required immediate attention. The first pioneer settled in DeKalb - county in 1835 and others soon followed. They found the forest well stocked with game, such as wild turkeys, deer, coon, mink, opossums, squirrels, pheasants and otter. There were a few bear, but they soon disappeared as the country improved. The gray timber wolves also abounded, for which there was a diligent search made by the hunters as the county commissioners offered a premium of five dollars for the scalp of each wolf killed in the county. This premium was soon raised to seven dollars, which led to their entire extermination by 1850. The busy honey bees were here in advance of the white man, and established their hives in the trunks of trees where they had stored in abundance the product of their labor. This furnished a very lucrative luxury for the early settlers. The coon, otter, mink and opossums were hunted on account of the value of their fur for which there was a ready sale for cash, to the fur traders who traveled through the county. The deer was hunted as there was a ready sale for their hides, and the venison, which was the principal meat served on the tables of the early settlers. There was distinct evidence that the beaver had once inhabited the county, but they were exterminated in advance of the early settlers.

The Pottawatomie Indians still inhabited the forests of DeKalb county when the first white settlers located here, but in 1842 they were piloted west of the Mississippi river by a French Indian agent of South Bend, Indiana, by the name of Coquillard. He was named and recognized by the Indians as "Cuttieaw." We have good evidence that DeKalb county was inhabited by a prehistoric race of people, prior to the Indians. We will make a few brief statements on this subject from our own personal observations.

Beaver Dams

This country abounded with water barriers or dams which had been constructed on the small streams and they were designated by the early settlers as beaver dams. In many places there were two or three in succession on the same stream at such a distance between that the water would be blocked up to the next dam above. These dams were all constructed in the form of a segment of a circle, bracing against the current. The earth used in the constructing of these dams, in every case had been obtained up the stream, above the structure, which was indicated by caverns in the banks from which the earth had been moved, and perhaps conveyed on rafts to where it was de- posited. This could not have been done by the beaver. Large trees had grown on the summit and sides of these supposed beaver dams that showed evidence of age, perhaps a thousand years. An opening had been cut through these embankments and the water let out. when, and by whom, it is not known.

Prehistoric Evidences

DeKalb county has another witness of this prehistoric race of people in the form of an old fort which we visited in 1865. This is located in Smithfield township about two miles south of the town of Ashley, and about three quarters of a mile west of the Auburn and Ashley public road. It consisted of an embankment of earth about four feet high and perhaps twelve or fifteen feet wide, in a true circle, encompassing oA^er an acre. There was a trench on the outside of the embankment about three or four feet deep, and about twelve feet wide, produced by the excavation of the earth in constructing the bank. When we visited this relic in 1865 it was in a dense wood and large trees had grown on the embankment and also in the trench, the same as on the dams above described. It is quite evident that this work had all been done about the same period and by the same class of lalxirers. There was no opening in the embankment. It had ben conceded on good authority that such structures were not built for forts but for a place of worship by the "Mound Builders." Another evidence that a prehistoric race of people inhabited this county is furnished by the stone implements which are found all over the county, as the land is being cultivated, such as arrow heads, spear heads and what is designated by our people as "stone sledges" and "skinning stones." These names are only conjectures as it is not known when or where, or by whom, or for what purpose they were made. In various parts of Europe the same kinds of stone implements are found and of the same quality of stone as those found in DeKalb county. This we see demonstrated in our academies of natural science. We make this statement to refute the presumptive and delusive theory that we so often hear advocated that these stone implements are the product of the Indians. The more we try to investigate this subject, the further we become perplexed.

Lumber And Asheries

I personally remember when the very best grades of black walnut and poplar lumber could be bought for five and si.x dollars per thousand feet, and there was short sale for it at that price. There was no market for the timber

SO in order to redeem the land, trees were cut down and the logs rolled together and burned, regardless of quality. The ashes were gathered and sold at the asheries for six cents per bushel. Here the ashes were leached in large vats and the lye thus obtained was manufactured into potash. There were quite a number of asheries in the county, owned and operated by parties who owned a store, with such goods as were in demand by the settlers. De- Kalb county at present, contains beautiful and valuable farms, but if the original timber that once covered these farms could be replaced, it would command a price in the market today, at the least estimate, to four times the present value of the land.

Imports And Exports

In 1842 the Erie and Wabash Canal was opened for navigation to Fort Wayne. This enterprise gave DeKalb county the first encouragement for eastern transportation. All the exports and imports were hauled with teams on mud roads and over swamps on corduroy bridges which were formed of logs laid side by side. The exports consisted of wheat, corn, oats, potatoes, potash, maple sugar, cranberries, deer hides and furs. The imports were dry goods, tea, coffee, leather, hardware and whiskey, an indispensable necessity with the hardy pioneers. The early settlers made all the soap they required and their shoes were made bv the local shoemaker.

Charcoal was the only coal that could be obtained by the blacksmiths, which was manufactured by burning wood in charcoal pits. The first steam sawmill in the county was built in 185 1 in Richland township, at Green's Corners, half a mile south of Sedan, by Fisher & Brown. This was the first steam power in the county, but prior to this date there had been fifteen water saw-mills built in the county. In early days Mr. C. Work built a water sawmill about half a mile south of the present Auburn Junction. He had a pair of small mill stones set in this mill to grind com and buckwheat. Here the first grain was ground in DeKalb county. The first flour mill to grind wheat in the county was a water mill built in 1850 by a Mr. Fansler on Cedar creek, about seven miles north of Auburn on the present Ashley public road.

First Public Utilities

The first electric light plant in the county was established in Garrett in 1886 by the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad Company. The first opera house in the county was erected in Garrett in 1889 by J. William Wagner. The first water works in the county was established by the city of Garrett in 1896 to supply the city with water, which is furnished from eight-inch driven wells, two hundred and fifty feet deep.