Fairmount Township (part 3 of 10)

"To what or to whom shall we give credit for this great change and for this immunity from disease? Has not the tile drainage system been the real foundation upon which the prosperity of the Township rests ^ Who, then, is more deserving of gratitude as a benefactor of his race than he who introduced the tile system of drainage into the Township ?

"Mr. Elliott did not use the horse-power mill, as described above, but devised a gearing out of an old portable machine which had been used for running a threshing machine in an early day. To this he attached steam power to the opposite end of the pinion shaft with the master wheel fastened in a saddle on the top of the mill post, and by driving the master wheel and also the mill with the little pinion he had adequate power, and just the proper speed for successful work.

"This was the first steam-power tile mill in Indiana. .Mr. Taylor, of the firm at Indianapolis that made the mill, came over to sec the manner of attaching steam power to his niachine, after which his firni made no more horse-power mills. Tile mills and motor power went on improving until now a tile two feet in diameter can be made as easily as the six-inch tile in the first place."

William S. Elliott is a native of Grant County. He was born January 28, 1844, at the Elliott cabin, which then stood on the present site of the Mess Hall of the National Military Home. His grandparents, Isaac and Rachel (Overman) Elliott, with two children, came originally from Virginia, settled in Wayne County, Indiana, and in 1822 traveled in wagons t(^ a point near the Mississinewa River, where they entered land since taken over by the Government and now included within thr grounds forming the Soldiers' Home property.

William S. Elliott as a boy attended till' ])ul)lic schools, as well as the schot)ls conducted by the Society of Eriends in that day. His ancestors for many generations were Quakers. He engaged in agricultural pursuits in his boyhood, until August, 1862, when lie volunteered his services to his country. He enlisted in Company C, Eighty-ninth Indiana Regiment of Infantry, at eighteen years of age. This comjKiny was in the latter part of the war in command of Capt. J. E. Jones, lately deceased. The term of service for which Mr. Elliott had volunteered was three years. The regiment was captured by the Confederates while guarding a railroad bridge at Mumfordsville, Kentucky, before he had been out six weeks. In a short time he was paroled and sent home, under instructions not to take up arms against the Confederacy until properly exchanged.

In six weeks this exchange was arranged b\- the authorities and Elliott again joined his command at Indianapolis. After some time of hard drilling the command was ordered to Memphis, Tennessee. Here he did post duty while the Union Army was sent on to Vicksburg. In

With twelve men he was detailed to escort a dozen captured Confederate officers to Johnson's Island, in Lake Erie, near Sandusky, Ohio. The prisoners were taken in a separate car set aside for the purpose. At Centralia, Illinois, and Bellefontaine, Ohio, the prisoners attracted numbers of Southern sympathizers, several offering" pistols to the prisoners. As one of the guards on duty at Centralia Elliott, with gun and bayonet, pressed the crowd back from the car.

At another time, after the surrender of Vicksburg, July lo, 1863, he was detailed with others to guard' iron safes containing $2,000,000 sent by the Government on the "City of Aladison" from Memphis to Vicksburg to pay off Union troops.

In October, 1864. Elliott was with his command in Missouri, then under General Pleasanton, in pursuit of the Confederate General Price. Captain Jones had responded to a detail to guard a water tank twelve miles west of Sedalia. General Pleasanton reminded Captain Jones that it would be a dangerous undertaking, telling him that he and his entire command might be killed or captured.

"You may have all the men you require for this work," remarked General Pleasanton, "but they must be picked men. You now realize the dangerous character of the duty you are about, to perform. Are you ready ?"

"I am not hesitating because of the hazardous character of the mission," replied Jones. "I was simply wondering, General, if you would allow me to take ni}- own company with me."

The General agreed to the suggestion. So Captain Jones, with Company C, made up principally of Fairmount Township and Grant County men, went to the water tank and held this important source of water supply until relieved.

After more than three years' service, mostly with the Sixteenth Army Corps, Mr. Elliott was mustered out on July 26, 1865. at Mobile, Alabama. Returning home he was married in September, 1865, to Miss Ruth Wilson, daughter of Jesse E. Wilson. She died in 1867. Later he married Miss Alice Radley, daughter of Samuel and Mary (Bull) Radlew by whom he is the father of eleven children, all living. Mr. Elliott has been uniformly successful in his various pursuits, and has retired with a competency ample to insure the comfort of himself and wife. Tie has been and is now useful in the church and enter- prising in his work for educational and civic progress. lie has for several years devoted considerable time and attention to the welfare of White's Institute, located in Wabash County, of which institution he is at present trustee. In all his activities he has been a conspicuous factor. As soldier, as farmer, as church man, as promoter of educational and civic welfare, Mr. Elliott is not only a many-sided man, with a broad experience and a thorough understanding of public affairs, but he is a type of the useful citizen of whom there are entirely too few in the average American community.

Chapter Ix Glimpses Of Pioneer Life

BEING the wife of a contractor and builder, changing from one State to another, one job to another, it will be hard for me to concentrate my mind in order to give anything accurate of happenings of early days. In writing of my early childhood and what I remember, will say that I was born in 1844, ori the farm called the Sammy Dillon place, in a twostory hewn log house with a fireplace in the west end. There was a road on the east. Daniel Baldwin joined on the south. Then north of us the houses on the main road were on the east side of the road.

First was Jesse Dillon, then Charles Baldwin. He had a log cabin in the south corner of his orchard, where Samuel Jones lived awhile. His wife was Jane Jones, a gifted minister of the Friends Church. Then Charles Baldwin lived next, and Matthew Winslow and Aaron Hill.

West of the road were farms on Back Creek, with the houses up on the hill west of the creek. First, going south and across the creek from Aaron Hill's farm were Solomon Knight and Joseph Winslow, then south was the road turningeast across the bridge, then the old meeting house and school house, and the Newby farm south. We cross the creek to go up to Racliel Newby's, then we cross the road running west to Oak Ridge. Going on south we crossed the road, then passed the Seth Winslow farm, then Iredell Rush's, then Jesse Wilson's, and next Nathan Wilson's farm, west of the town.

Mrs. Lydia Morris Arnold

Most of the houses first built in Fairmount were one-story, about thirty feet square, then shedded off back for a kitchen. They had a fireplace in the large room and one or two bed rooms. Some put a bed in the kitchen.

Two stores were built, one on the east side of Main Street, and one on the west. Joseph W. Baldwin had his goods on the east, Isaac Stanfield on the west. These two buildings were a little larger, with gable facing street and a small attic. They had the store in the big room.

A saw-mill was built south of the road running west to Little Ridge. James Cammack, who owned the mill, lived in the house west of Stanfield's store.

The first meeting house was built on the vacant ground north of Cammack's. It was a small frame, and was also used for school purposes. Father and David Stanfield helped to lay out the ground for the house.

Father bought the first clock and cook stove in the Township. The clock was a wooden clock. It had these letters on the door, "Time is Money." The stove was what they called a step stove.

I went to school at Back Creek before Fairmount was prepared with school facilities. The school house was west of the meeting house. It was a square frame about thirty feet, with a door in the north and one in the south, two windows in east, two in west, one on each side of the door in south, a blackboard on north and east and west as far as the windows. There were two posts in the middle of the room, on each side of the big box stove, heated by wood, and they were big sticks at that. The teachers were paid by the scholar, so the larger the attendance the bigger his wages.

And away we scampered for our seats. There we spent about fifteen minutes with our books, in the manner they called "studying out loud." What would one of our modern students think to be ushered into such a babel as that?

We ate our lunch in silence, and then we were given an hour of play. Our games were "black man," "town ball," "three-cornered cat," "base," "drop the handkerchief," "little lame dog," "pussy wants a corner," and on stormy days we had "cross questions and crooked answers," "smiles," "thumbs up," and many other simple games.

They used the Elementary Spellers and McGuffey's Readers, Tolbert's Arithmetic, Olney's Geography, Thompson's Higher Arithmetic, Brown's Grammar and Walker's Dictionary. A teacher, in order to pass examination, must be able to make a good writing pen out of a goose quill and "do sums up to the rule of three."

The girls wore flannel dresses and big aprons in winter, heavy cotton in summer. The boys wore a cloth called jeans in winter and tow or flax in summer. In the middle of the week we went to meeting. Often, now, when I hear the "whinney" of a horse, it brings to my remembrance those times as I sat in meeting (as it was sometimes very quiet in doors), the restless neighing of the horses anxious to return to their mates. The women rode often with a child on behind and one in her lap, the men most always walking.

About the first one to arrive would be Solomon Knight, walking, his wife, Betsy, riding. He would lead the horse up to where they had a wide slab leaning up to a tree, with a deep notch cut to hold it secure, and two pegs driven in the ground down south of tlie tree. Those who came across the creek got off here, and those on the north on a big stump, with places cut on one side for steps. On the south was a big log with notches for steps. They were generally on time, and when one we all called Uncle Josie Winslow came, w^e knew it was time for our teacher to say :

That meant for us to put away our books and march, the girls first, two and two, the boys next. The teacher led the way, and at the door he let us all pass, the girls on the west of the aisle and the boys east. The teacher sat back of us, as the seats were arranged a little on the incline. He would be able to see over us. We had to be decorous, sure, for there were the old people in the gallery looking down on us and the teacher behind us.

was first and then Nathan Morris, David Stanfield, Solomon Knight and John Carey. Next row, Jesse Harvey, WilHam Osborn, Aaron Hill, old Thomas Harvey, Lindsey Baldwin and Thomas Winslow. Now, I will leave the next bench for comers and goers.

On the west, first, was Eunice Baldwin, as Charles was now dead. After Eunice Baldwin there were Sallie Knight and Anna Harvey. When a woman minister came with her companion they moved over and gave place for them. (When men came on the other side two men moved down for them to the next seat.) On the second seat on the west was Rachel Newby, Miriam Morris, Lydia Carey and Anna Winslow. I will not locate others (too tedious).

The preaching was generally spoken without a text, but occasionally a text was given. When prayer was offered we all stood up and turned our backs towards the gallery.

Nathan Morris was not much for changing his dress and address. He wore his hair cut the style he wore when a young man. It was cut square across the forehead, then slanting down to his ears, down a little, then it was a little longer in back. His collar was attached to his shirt. In winter he wore a black tie, in summer a white one. His vest was buttoned up within about four inches of his chin, coat in the shad style, pants made with a flap buttoned up about two inches of the pockets on each side, and his suspenders were knit of yarn. They were called galluses. His hat was a beaver. Aunt Polly Henley made his "meeting clothes," as she was a fine needle woman. She was a sister of Betsy Rush and Martha Winslow, and mother of Dr. Alpheus Henley, grandmother of Angelina (Harvey) Pearson. Father never did receive money for his services as a minister. He said if he was faithful the necessary things would be forthcoming. His crops would grow and the stock increase and flourish. He had a good, roomy house, large barn and cribs, a cattle pen for drovers to put their cattle in, and a hog-tight pen for the hog drovers to put their hogs in. We had one large room with a fireplace and a large, brick hearth to let people stay in on stormy nights.

Travel was by wagon. There were no railroads. The boats came up the Wabash River, north, over forty miles away, and south the Ohio River made Cincinnati a great trading point. So the cattle, sheep and bogs were driven to those points.

Father's place was one of the stopping points on the route. The wagons were the old stiff-tongued affairs, with wooden axles, the wheels fastened on with linchpins, and the bed looked more like a boat on wheels than anything I can think of. The harness was the chain style, with high hames, and the teamsters often had a set of what they called hame bells, so when they were coming we were well aware of it. If the tar-bucket was forgotten, what a squeaking noise we could hear, nearly a mile away, on a clear day in winter ! They nearly always hung the tar-bucket on the hind axle. A hole was made in the lid for the tar-paddle. A leather whang was used to fasten the lid to the bucket to secure it. If there was more than one span of horses the driver rode one of the horses at the tongue. Oxen were used for logging and other heavy work. One Indian often came to town driving a team of oxen with a set of chain harness on, he sitting in the wagon guiding them with lines.

In the winter they made wooden sleds from the timber of a crooked tree, split and hewn for runners, with cross-pieces mortised in, plank laid on and straw and comforters. We packed in sardine fashion, as happy as larks in June.

There were the spelling schools, quilting bees, log rollings and quiltings combined, wool pickings, apple cuttings, and sometimes writing schools. To tell how these social gatherings were conducted would be too lengthy. Will mention the wool picking event.

They took their turns in the neighborhood and invited all to "come and help with the wool." Now. this was a gala time, and a good, oldfashioned dinner was spread. The teacher was invited to come after school for supper. The wool, having been washed and dried, it was brought in and spread out in the center of a large room. Then each put on her big apron. And such a hubbub all around the room, exchanging the last news, and each busy with the wool. There were burrs, Spanish needles and trash to be extracted. Then it was tied in sheets or old blankets to be taken to the woolen mill at Jonesboro, in my time, but earlier it was made into rolls at home with hand-cards about fourteen inches in width, with wire teeth, and handles like curr\-combs. They combed the wool until it was in smooth layers, then with forward and backward movements formed it into rolls ready for spinning.

One day I found grandmother's cards and asked mother to teach me how to make rolls. You ought to have seen some of my awkward movements before I got anything like a roll. The rolls made at the carding machine are over two feet long. They were in bunches of from fifty to a hundred. Then they were put in layers on the sheets the wool was brought to mill in, then rolled up very tight and pinned with thorns. My brother earned his ''first big money," as he thought, by gathering thorns to sell to the proprietor of the mill at so much a dozen. Most everyone raised sheep, and the women spun and wove cloth for their clothing and blankets, knit their own hosiery, and the men's, too.

The farmers raised flax. It was pulled up by the roots, cured and put through the flax-brake. The coarse fiber was called tow, which was used for ropes, kite strings, twine, and to spin into carpet warp. The fine fiber was done up in twists and laid away, to be spun into thread for sewing and weaving into bedding, towels, tablecloths, shirts, dresses, pants and other useful things. Grandmother made a substantial button out of flax thread. It looked a little like a crocheted button of this time.

For weaving, there was the spool-holder, warping-bars, loom, quillwheel, winding-blades, shuttle-quills, spools and yard-string. To try to describe all the attachments pertaining to a loom would be a task.

The spinning of wool was done on a big wheel, on a bench of three legs, two at back end, one longer in front. They spun the thread and wound it on a broach on a spindle. When full it was wound on a reel. One hundred and twenty rounds made a cut. The skein consisted of four cuts. Each cut was tied or cross-threaded. The girls often tried to see who could make the most in a day. Sister Sarah could get her twenty-four cuts.

In spinning flax they used a little wheel with a distaff, on which the flax was held while spinning. The thread was so stout it could not be broken. They used to cut it. I will not describe a flax-wheel, as you can examine some old book or painting and see the way they look at the little wheel.

One woman east of the Mississinewa River raised the silk worms and made silk thread. It was very good, stout thread. People raised most of what they used, both eatables and wearing apparel. All the sewing was hand work, and they borrowed patterns one of another, so there was no kick on high cost of living.

Hog killing time was a neighborhood affair, as they helped one another. There was an old colored man, Robert Brazelton, who was adapted to such occasions. He could knock a hog in the head and stick it with ease. The hogs were scalded, scraped, and then hung upon a long pole. A chip was put in the hog's mouth. Father was an adept in drawing them. The entrails were carried to a long table for women to extract the fat. They thoroughly washed out the inside. There were generally about eight to twenty hogs slaughtered at a killing, as the meat was cured and the farmers sold some to help run the expenses in summer. By the time the last hog was hung the first was ready for cutting up and salting away in the smoke-house to cure ready for smoking. They hung the joints on wooden hooks made of forked limbs of hickory. They used corn cobs or hickory wood to smoke with.

In making sausages there were no grinders, so it was all chopped by hand on a big chopping block. They made head cheese, pickled pigs feet, and hung the ribs before the fire and roasted them. Oh, they w^ere fine !

Corn-planting time was a busy month. First, they plowed the ground, then run a single-shovel plow the longest way of the field, then they mustered all the help available to get the corn in one run, the single plow the other way of the field forming check rows. Following him was a dropper, putting four grains in each hill, followed "by one with a hoe, covering it. Sometimes we made a bee of it. Then a lot of us girls would drop and the boys with hoes covered. Then we got a good dinner and supper, sure. The cultivating was mostly by the hoe. Some run the single plow a few times through it.

When the corn was ripe they snapped it, hauled it into the barn, or crib, to be husked at leisure. Sometimes they had a husking bee. It was an interesting sight, with those tin lanterns hanging here and there and the busy men and boys at their work. Women prepared them a treat of doughnuts, apples, pie and some coffee.

When they wanted to take the grist to mill a few sacks of corn were brought to the house after supper. All hands set to and did the shelling by hand. It was taken to the water mill, ground between two stones, and was sifted at home in a round-wire sieve. The corn bread and pones were fine.

Sugar and molasses were made of the sap of the sugar maple. They ,cut a downward-stroked notch in the south side of the tree, bored a hole so as to run into the notch, inserted a spile to let the sap run into a trough made of a log split and hewn out for a receptacle for the sap. They built a place to boil it by putting clay and rocks around the bigiron kettles, put wood in the north end, as it was mostly south wind in spring. Father would build a shed, put in some straw and a few comforters, so we could take turns watching the kettles. The first sap was used to make sugar. The last end of sap time it was made into molasses.

One night sister Millie, Charlotte Peacock and I helped father "sugar off." We slept until he was ready for putting it into crocks to cool and stir. The more we stirred it the whiter it got. Sometimes it was as light as coffee A sugar we get nowadays. This was our "company" sugar. Some was darker for common use. Then we molded some into cakes and stacked it awav.

Father waked us up to feast on wax. We put it on plates to cool. Soon we had our fun, pulling and eating. Then father told us to lie down until he was ready for us. So Millie said, "Shadrach, Meshach and Aebednego," or, "Get up, eat wax, and to bed we go."

Most of the farmers raised ducks and geese. The duck feathers were used to make pillows and the goose feathers to make feather beds. There was a good market for feathers when not wanted for home use.

They raised broom-corn, made their own brooms, and for scrubbing, sweeping the yard and barn floor they made a split broom by taking a pole of hickory wood and shaving it down within three or four inches of one end and then turn the splits over that stub, tie it and trim off even. It made a stout, serviceable broom.

They did their plowing for wheat as soon after haying as possible, then harrowed it. Those who had no harrow used a brush as drag. They sowed the wheat broadcast by hand, then brushed it in. To harvest the wheat, those who had no cradle used a sickle in cutting it. Then it was tied into bundles and put up in shocks ready for the barn.

When ready to thresh, they swept the floor (and here was where the splint broom came into good play). They used a flail. Some tramped it out with horses. Father had a fanning-mill. Some used the fire bellows. Some took it out on a windy day, spread it on a wagon cover or sheets and passed it from one vessel to another to get the chaff out. It was taken to the old water mill to be made into flour. The miller took his toll.

The farthest back that I can remember is when old Sorrel and Charley ran away while one of my brothers was eating a lunch before he started to Jonesboro with his wheat. He had been hauling rails for father to lay fence. The people laid the first row in the "right time of the moon." He took two planks, put them on the running gears of the wagon and piled his sacks of wheat thereon. The other brother and Millie were on the wagon when the horses started. They ran against a plum tree in the front yard, turned over wheat and all, with sister underneath. She was hurt. I was two years and a half old, but it was indelibly stamped on my memory.

The lanterns they used were made of tin, with oblong holes punched outward to emit the light. They used candles placed in a tin socket. Those who didn't have a lantern took the scaly bark of the hickory tree, tied it with a tow string and lighted it at the fire. There were no matches. People covered up live coals of fire with ashes to start fires. If the coals went dead on them, over to the nearest neighbor they would go

Fairmount was a temperance town. I never saw a drunk man until I was eighteen years old, and that was at a colored camp-meeting. A young man from Marion was lying on his face dead drunk. It had a disgusting look to me.

People made their own soap. They saved the ashes and put them in an ash hopper, poured water on and it ran through into a trough similar to a sugar trough, boiled the lye down to where it would eat a feather, then put in old meat trimmings, old grease and such, and boil it until it roped from the paddle In washing, they used wide, flat paddles, soaped the clothes in strong suds made of this soap, and then laid them on a block, or slab, to be "paddled out." When I was past seven years of age they got to using a pounding barrel, as barrels were made by Jackson Reel and other men around there. This barrel was about a third full of water. The clothes were soaped and put in. Then a wooden pestle was used to extract the dirt. Then they were boiled, rinsed, starched and hung out to dry on a line made of tow. The starch was made by scraping potatoes, then washed. The part that settled made a good starch when cooked.

Blacksmiths in those days could make irons. These were heated in front of the fire in the fireplace. Most of these fireplaces had what they called a crane-iron attached, with different lengths of hooks .to hang kettles on to boil dinners, cook pumpkins and other things. Grandmother Benbow had a reflector. It was a bright tin frame with slanting shelves toward the fire and used to roast sweet potatoes, scjuashes and meats, and to bake the Johnnie cakes and other things.

They made chairs, baskets, wooden spoons, bowls, churns and wooden tubs. On each side was left an extension of the staves to make openings for handhold. William Wellington made us a good wood washboard with a kind of plane he brought with him from England. He made our bedsteads and did other carpenter work. He was a well-read man and he brought his Advent books with him, and many other books. My brother-in-law, Micah Baldwin, did have some of his books when I was young. "Religious Emblems and Allegories" and "Daniel and the Prophets" were among them.

Now, I will write some of my recollections of father Nathan Morris. He was born in Guilford County, North Carolina, Tenth month 8, 1806. He was the son of Thomas and Sarah Morris. He moved, with his widowed mother, to Wayne County, Indiana, when a young man. Some time after his mother's death he married the eldest daughter of John and Charity Benbow. After their eldest child, Sarah, was born they moved to Grant County. He entered eighty acres just north of Daniel Baldwin. After building a one-room log cabin, in the middle of the claim, he cleared out a garden and corn patch and set out an orchard. This was the old one (on the forty acres Allen Dillon bought of father afterwards). He lived in that cabin some years, until he built a large two-story house, which had a splendid brick fireplace and wide' hearth. In this house I was born.

Father planted a fine orchard west of this house - apples, pears, peaches, cherries. West of the house, inside of the picket fence, he planted some plum trees for shade for his string of bee hives.

Now, father had a hobby for planting orchards, and every time I write of a change in farms just think there he was looking after fruit supplies, for no one had better fruit than he had. He lived in the twostory house and continued adding a room or two until it was quite a roomy place. (It was burned down after we left there.)

In 1857 father traded this farm for the old Charles Baldwin farm, near Back Creek meeting house. Charles and Eunice Baldwin lived in the west end of this house. There were three orchards, as father bought three other farms. Grandmother had half of the west one, near the road. So I went to school at the old stamping ground.

The turnpike was made while we lived there. Father had a share of stock in the road when he left. He sold his share to Jonathan P. Winslow in time of the war.

In September we went back to Indiana. I went to normal at Back Creek and boarded at William Pierce's, then stayed in Fairmount with sister Sarah that winter. Father lived in the little town at Oak Ridge, as his farm was occupied until March. Father attended Oak Ridge meeting. His farm joined the meeting-house yard on the north. The next spring I took the school for the summer and stayed at home. The next winter I stayed with Sarah, as Micah had moved into the Jonathan Baldwin hotel.

Father died in 1880. He walked over three miles to meeting, preached as usual, returned home, and in a few days he passed away, and was laid to rest in the Oak Creek Graveyard, near Burr Oak. Jewell County, Kansas. He had preached fifty-one years. He was liheral in every good cause. I have seen a cart load of eatables, clothing" and things go out of the house and cellar at one time, and in his rounds among the poor, if he saw children too thinly clad would go to the store and buy cloth for us to make u]), telling us the size and sex, so we could fit them. My mother died in the fall of 1850. and father later married Abigail Peacock, widow of John Peacock.

Father Morris had three brothers and five sisters. Elizabeth married a man by the name of Moorman. I forget his name, for he died about twenty years before I was born. Aaron married one of the Thomas girls. Hannah and Anna were twins. Hannah married John Lee and Anna married Solomon Thomas. Caleb married Polly Conner, Mary married Benjamin Benbow, father married Miriam Benbow, Thomas married Nellie Osborn, and Celia married Henry Carter.

Aunt Hannah Lee and Aunt Anna Thomas looked as near alike as' two peas. There was such a strong, sisterly tie between them that they never were widely separated. The only way I could tell them apart was by the horses they rode. When one of them was sick the other would say, "Now, get the horse ready, for I know sister is sick." It never did fail.

Solomon Thomas and John Lee moved to Iowa when I was small, so I don't know mtich about them except that L^ncle John lived to be over one hundred years old. Uncle Solomon married the second time. Father and I visited him and his last wife in southern Iowa, in 1862, and after that he moved back to Fairmount. When I was back on a visit I went to see him. Solomon was living at the tollgate. He was getting quite old, but was able to look after the collection of toll.

Now, I will tell of a few persons around Fairmount. There was one Bob Level, who was quite eccentric. When he came to town he always got off a pun or two. One day he came into Henry Harvey's store and said :

"Henry, I want a set of knitting-needles. Be sure not to put in the seam-stitch needle, for no difference how big' a hurry I am in, the old woman savs. 'wait till I get to the seam-stitch needle, then I will help you'."

Another lime Bob said the flies were so bad out to his house they moved out on the porch. "I drove all the flies into the house but one. I killed it, then we ate dinner with pleasure."

"Now that Uncle Nathan has gone we won't know when to sow wheat or plant our other crops or nothing. We are all broke up." Well, father was always considered quite a weather prophet, and hardly ever missed it. He was a close observer and people had faith in his predictions.

There was Joseph Knight. He was a regular bookworm. Often he would go in from his morning work to prepare for meeting, get his book, and forget the matter until the rest were ready to start and he was reminded of it . So, after meeting had begun here he would come in. One time, when he was clerk of the meeting, he did not come until late. He had the clerk's book under his arm and his hat in his hand. But he got there before the business had begun. One night we were at jMartha Winslow's for supper. After supper the young folks proposed we all go to Fairmount to geography school, as we had them often in those days. This school was taught by Alpheus Weaver. Well, Joseph had forgotten his overcoat, cold as it was. So he picked up a buffalo robe off the lounge (one Jack Winslow brought home from the Territory now Kansas). This he wrapped around him and said he was ready. We marched two and two down the turnpike on through town, the end of the robe going clip-clip on the frozen sidewalk, on into the meeting house (for then we used the meeting house as an educational center). He never took it off until seated. He was a learned man, taught at several places, went to Iowa and married a widow with two boys, then came to Kansas and settled in Jewell County. He was living there when I went to visit my brother, Exum, and mother, in 1891.

Thomas W. Newby

Newby, died, leaving- his mother, Mary (Winslow) Newby, a widow with two small children, Thomas, about three years old, and Eleanor, about one year old. When a boy, Thomas Newby made his home with his uncle Micajah Newby, who was the father of the late Nancy Thomas, wife of the late Amos Thomas. When a small boy, he moved to Indiana, first living in Henry County, then later moved to Grant County, where his uncle. ]\Iicajah, settled on the farm known as the Amos Thomas farm, ^^'hen a young man. he hired to Uncle Nathan Morris, who was a Friends minister of the (iospcl.

Sarah Hill was born in Randolph County. North Carolina, on December 7. 1824. When a little girl al30Ut three years of age. her father, Aaron Hill, loaded his belongings and family into a wagon and started for Indiana, and settled on what is ncnv known as the Henry Harvey farm. The writer of this article remembers hearing his mother often tell about riding over the Blue Ridge Mountains in the feed-box on the back end of the wagon. Quite different from the ways of convevance of today with automobiles and aeroplanes.

I think it was while Thomas Newby was working for Nathan ]\1 orris that his courtship began with Sarah Hill, which resulted in their marriage, the ceremony being performed in Back Creek meeting, the contracting parties walking from the home of the bride to the meeting house, and then back home again after meeting and the ceremony had been performed according to Friends discipline.

Aaron Newby

Aaron Newbv formerly owned for ten dollars an acre, went in debt for the whole amount, and the writer has often heard him remark that if all his belongings had been sold at that time for one hundred dollars it would not have left a shirt on his back. The farm had no land cleared on it, there being seven acres deadened on the northwest corner of the eighty, the balance in green woods and swamps. He built a hewed-log house, of one large room, but built it tall enough so that it contained one large attic about three and one-half feet from loft (we called it those days, to the eaves), making it about six and one-half feet to the comb of the house. He also' built a log barn and stable, with barn on one end, and stable on the other, into which three horses could be crowded, with shed between barn and stable, the barn being ten or twelve rods from the house. They could not see the barn from the house, the timber and bushes being so thick, deer often passing by in sight of the house.

At the time he bought the farm, his father-in-law, Aaron Hill, told him he was foolish, that they could not make a living on the place ; but he had too much energy and perseverance to be discouraged, and set to work clearing the land and ditching, and by his every-day habits of industry, and living very economically, he soon had the farm paid for ; and going right forward, performing such w^ork each day as he could, and using close economy and good management, with his good companion giving all the aid she could in performing her part of the work, keeping house, cooking, washing, ironing, spinning, weaving and making the clothes for the family, they added, acre by acre, until they had bought over eight hundred acres of land, which is the choice of Grant County land today, there having been as high as ninety bushels of corn raised to the acre and fifty bushels of wheat without the use of commercial fertilizers.

In the year 1903, December 7th, Thomas Newby, at the age of seventy-nine years and seven months, passed away. After his death, it was agreed among the heirs to keep the estate in one body while mother lived. She remained in good health, most of the time, until March 7, 191 1, when she passed from works to rewards, at the age of eighty-six years and three months. After the death of both, when the heirs met to settle the estate, it was found to be valued at over sixty thousand dollars, besides giving each of the six children eighty acres of land, which was worth about one hundred and forty dollars per acre. With the improvements the children had made on their land the entire estate rose from less than one hundred dollars in 1846 to about one hundred and thirty thousand dollars in 191 1 - all by steady habits of industry

Thomas Newby was a man who liked to accommodate his neighbors, and was always willing to aid those in need. He had a great reputation for selling persons who were in need of feed and did not have the money, to let them have the feed on time and pay when they got the money. He was not a man to go security on notes or give security. He was a man who paid the cash for what he bought, outside of land, and in settling his estate we found only one account against him, of fifty cents.

When first starting up housekeeping they had neither cookstove nor clock for quite a while ; had a large fireplace in the west end of the house that would take in a backlog three and one-half feet long. Up over the fireplace was a long bar of iron reaching from one jamb to the other, with hooks hanging down on which mother would hang kettles to boil meat, cabbage, potatoes, turnips, etc., and to bake bread she had an oven. She would pull out fire coals on the hearth, put her oven on, and would_ then put her corn dodgers, biscuits or corn pones, whichever she was baking, then would put the lid on the oven and cover with good, live fire coals and let set until they were baked. I can almost see mother lifting that lid to see how the bread was baking. To make mush, they would hang a kettle of water over the fire until the water would begin to boil, then mother would have her tray of meal served ready, then take the kettle of boiling water from over the fire, shovel some good, live coals out on the hearth, setting the kettle on ; then she would begin adding the meal ; father, with a wood paddle about three feet long, would keep constantly stirring the water as mother added the meal, until thev got the mush as thick as thev wanted it. then thev would let it boil until it was done. The only cupboard mother had for years was made by boring- holes in the logs of the house and driving long pins in them, then laying clapboards on the pins for shelves, on which to put her dishes and victuals. The first clock they owned they traded a milch cow for. Father did not have any wagon to start out with, using a hand-made sled for some time.

I well remember the two large beds setting in the east end of the room, one on the north side and the other on the south side, with the trundle-bed run under the one on the north side. I imagine I can hear that trundle-bed scjualling now as it is pulled out from under the large bed. But when the children grew large enough father hired a carpenter to build a stairway by using two rough boards, nailing cleats on the inside of them, then nailing steps on the cleats. The loft floor, as we called it those days, was made out of rough boards, with great cracks between the boards, and the roof was of four-foot clapboards riven out. The roof must have been put on the wrong time of the moon, as the boards curled up.

Now just imagine one sleeping up there on a stormy night in the winter and wake up in the night with snow sifting down in his face, and next morning when he went to arise, roll the cover back and hear the snow squeak like rolling a snowball ; then think of wading through snow down to the big fireplace, where he would receive a warm greeting.

Personal Characteristics Of First Settlers

EVER since the descendants of Noah passed out from the plains of' Shinar to people the whole earth and the islands of the seas, there has not been a land discovered by a record-making people that did not find a race of beings which had preceded them and taken possession and made themselves homes. This disposition to seek a new country seems to have been a God-given impulse that has come on down through the ages, and manifested itself in the Anglo-Saxon race of the eighteenth century.

We have records of but few of the early emigrants to Fairmount Township who became discouraged by reason of privations and hardships they had to endure in the new country and returned to their native land. This proved that they were in possession of that energy, perseverance and stick-to-itivenesss which triumphs over all difficulties.

Just why the people of North Carolina and Virginia should have selected Grant County for a future home without a forerunner to spy out the land I cannot say. Certainly the move demonstrated good judgment as to fertility of soil and favorable surroundings for the making of desirable homes and the development of a sturdy, loyal progeny .

In my location of the first settlers of Fairmount Township I will take up the district lying between the Range line on the west and the State road, or old pike, on the east, from the county line north. Later I may take up that part of the Township lying east of the old pike.

John Wilson and wife, Mary, with a family of twelve children, eight sons and four daughters, came over the mountains from Randolph County, North Carolina, in May, 1837, and bought a half-section of land that was bounded on the south by the present County and Township line (it will be remembered that the Grant County line once extended a half-mile south of where it now is), erected a cabin and proceeded to the making of a farm. The family consisted of Jesse E., Nathan D., Cyrus, Henry, Nancy, Micajah, Elizabeth, Eliza, John Milton, Lindsey, Samuel and Abigail.

John Wilson was an energetic, enthusiastic farmer, and with the low cost of labor of those days and the assistance of his boys, he in a few years had a self-sustaining farm, with grain and stock to sell to

He had the advantage of some in receiving a good education, and was a fine scribe. Very few excelled him with a pen. He was a good writer and composer, and wrote the life history of Joseph in poetry, which was worthy of preservation. At the beginning of each chapter there was a verse different in style from the balance, but appropriate to that chapter.

John met with quite a misfortune on election day, as I now recall it. The election was held in the woods near my father's house. John had ridden a spirited animal to the election which he hitched to a limb or bush not far away. The animal managed to get loose and started for home. The way was but a trail for near a mile through the thick woods. The animal evidently was running, and in making a short, quick turn, struck one hind leg against a sapling and broke the bone below the knee. The only remedy was to shoot the horse and relieve its suffering. I passed by that skeleton many times.

John Wilson gave each of his children a good start in life, and lived to see the country develop into good farms, and when too feeble to longer attend to his farm work, sold out and moved to town, where he died, in June, 1864, at the ripe old age of eighty years.

Hanley Broyle^ and wife, Betsy, came from North Carolina near the time John Wilson did, and took land in the southwest corner of the intersection of the County line and the Range line, where they made a farm and lived many years, esteemed by all who knew them, and died leaving no posterity.

The first man to take up land north of John Wilson was Dempsey Bailey, who did not remain there long, but sold to Jonathan Wilcuts, who, in a year or two, sold to Martin Bates.

There seemed to be considerable trading in land at that early date. The first settlers who came into the new country before mills were erected to grind corn had their resources severely taxed at times to provide for large, dependent families. Green corn, beans, potatoes and squash would substitute for bread for a short season, but soon the roasting ears were too hard. Then they must resort to other means to prepare the corn for the palate. One device was to cut a section of a tree twenty inches in diameter and three feet long, set it on end in some convenient place and with an axe or chisel and fire work out a depression in one end to hold a quart or more of corn. Then with a pestle made of hard wood beat the corn in this improvised mortar until one could run it through a sieve or blow the bran off and make a cake or pot of hasty pudding, commonly called mush. He who has not read Will Carleton's poetical production on "Hasty Pudding" has missed a treat.

Heads Of Wilson-Hill-Bogue-Baldwin

Hon. Samuel C. Wilson, son of John Wilson; Joseph W. Hill, son of Aaron Hill; Jesse Bogue, son of Barnaba Bogue, and Asa T. Baldwin, son of Thomas

He had grubbed out a few acres in the green woods in the spring and put it in corn, and gave it some kind of cultivation, but the squirrels got a good part of the grain. When wheat sowing time came round, the wild weeds and wild pea vines were taller and much thicker than the corn. Wilcuts made an effort to get between the corn rows with horse and plow, but after making quite an effort he gave it up as a bad job. He determined not to be beaten out of his wheat bread without one more trial. Shouldering his sack of wheat, he got on his horse and rode between the corn rows, sowing the grain over the tops of the weeds as he went, trusting that the weeds would soon fall down and protect the wheat, which they did, rewarding him with a fair yield the next harvest.

I have written of this incident to show future generations that may chance to read this what difficulties the early settler had to contend with. Wilcuts sold to Martin Bates, who, I think, put up the first frame house I recollect of seeing on Back Creek.

Bates had a half-section of land and took stock for all of it in a scheme to build a railroad from Cincinnati to Chicago. The bubble burst and nearly all that took stock in the road lost every dollar or acre of land they put in. Bates moved to Iowa, and from there to Kansas. I was near where he lived in Kansas, in 1858. It was said Martin was doing quite well there.

Bernard McDonald next bought the Bates land of the railroad creditors. Since then it has been divided up somewhat and may now be owned by Henry Davis's heirs.

The next place north was taken by Frank Lytle, Jr. He, too, emigrated to Iowa. The place has since been owned by a number of persons, namely, Nixon Winslow, David Stanfield, Lindsey Wilson, and others.

The next eighty acres was taken by Benjamin Benbow and traded to Thomas Baldwin. Then, Calvin Bookout owned it ; then, a Mrs. Dickey, I think.

The next man north of the Bates place was David Smithson, who took up three hundred and twenty acres, in length one mile north and south. Wilson, Bates and Smithson owned a block of land two miles in length, reaching from the County line north to Perry Scale's south line, or directly west of Washington Street, Fairmount.

lliau, Isaac, Anna. Margaret, Seth, Nancy and Adeline. Four of his sons were in the Civil War. They were Jwdiah, Isaac, Seth and Jehu. David was a good citizen and died on his farm. He set each of his children off with forty acres of land.

Tn 1833, Thomas Baldwin and Lydia, his wife, came frpni Wayne County, Indiana, and took up the land that reached to the center of Fairmount, later known as the David Stanfield homestead. Baldwin sold to Stanfield, who came, in 1836, from Tennessee, with a family of seven children, wdio later married and settled near Fairmount.

The land now owned hy W. A. Beasley was first taken by Thomas Morris, April 9, 1832, and later sold to Benjamin Benbow. Thomas Baldwin, in the early day, taught three terms of school on that place.

Thomas Baldwin afterwards bought the farm later known as the Jesse Dillon |)lace. north of town. From there he moved to the Deer Creek settlement.

Jesse E. and Nathan D. Wilson, sons of John and Mary Wilson, married sisters, Hannah and Mary, daughters of Aaron Hill, in 1838, and settled on the land given them by their father, south of the Rush farm and west of Back Creek. They both reared large families and were energetic, progressive farmers, useful ipembers of church and community, and were much used in the church, giving freely of their time and substance to promote the cause of righteousness, temperance and peace, and were in the front ranks when anything was to be done for the betterment of the community. They led exemplary lives, and left the world better for having lived in it. 'I'hey died on their farms, after enjoying the fruits of their labor for many years. Their widows died in Fairmount with relatives. Tlieir children are scattered many miles apart. Some went on the long journey where life is full of joy and bright hopes. , A majority of both families now rest with the silent dead.

Daniel Baldwin and wife. Christian, with a family of ten children, came to Fairmount Township, in 1833. ^^'^^^ settled on the quarter-section of land embracing wdiat is now the north half of Fairmount. lie erected a cabin near where J. H. Wilson's residence now stands. Here they lived, and here they died some years later, leaving five of the family yet unmarried. They subsequently married and lived in Fairmount.

Nathan Morris and wife, Miriam, with a family of children, came in 1832 and took the quarter-section lying immediately north of Daniel Baldwin, where he made a good farm. Nathan was energetic, progres- sive. and made a good and useful citizen. He was the father of twentyrwo children. He emigrated west, in 1865, and died in Jewell County, Kansas, in 1881, having been a minister in the Society of Friends from early manhood. His old farm has been divided up and is now owned by different parties.

In 1835, Dugan Rush and wife, Elizabeth, took up the land now owned by John Kelsay. He was a hard worker, would pile his brush during the day and burn it at night. Mostly by his own labor, he made a nice farm and had passed over the most trying period of pioneer life. The alluring reports from the great West of the ease with which one could make a farm on the prairie so enthused him that he sold out to Thomas Powell and moved to Iowa, where he purchased land and proceeded to make a new home. They had not been gone more than a year, I think, when word came that Dugan was dead and the family was anxious to return to Indiana. A brother of Dugan's went after them and moved the family back. Having to dispose of their holdings out there at a reduced price, they had but little left when they arrived at their old home.

In 1836, Phineas Henley and Mary, his wife, and four children came and took land lying between Dugan Rush and the Range line west and the Oak Ridge road on the north.

Thomas Winslow lived there until some time in 1850, when he sold to Robert Carey, and purchased the farm east of the pike formerly owned by Jesse I^ogue.

Seth Winslow and Mary, his wife, in 1829, entered land directly north of Iredell Rush's northeast forty and Nathan Morris's northwest forty. They had four children born to them, namely, Sarah, Elizabeth, Jesse and Ruth. Jesse died when about twelve years old, I think. Sarah lived to be a young woman and died. Elizabeth married and died, leaving four children. Ruth lived to care for her parents and soothe their ])athway through the decline of life. Ruth has since joined her loved t)nes to give an account of her stewardship, and thus that family has become extinct.

In 1835 came Jacob Hale and Dorinda, his wife, from North Caro- Hna, with a family of eight children, namely, Nancy, Elizabeth, Dorcas, Samnel, Asenath, William, Jane and George, and located on the eighty acres north of Josept W. Baldwin, the land now owned by John Flanagan and W. P. Scale. Jacob's wife was a sister of Iredell and Nixon Rnsh. Hale sold to a man by the name of Townsend, he to Robert Corder, and Corder to W. P. Scale. Hale emigrated to Iowa, and from Iowa to Kansas, in 1858, where a remnant of the family is now living, near Leroy, Coffey County.

In 1837, Peter Rich and wife, Sarah, and six children, mostly of age, namely, Aaron, George, Rebecca, Mary, Martha and Isaac located directly east of Hale. Peter was a wagon maker by trade. He did all his work by hand and with few tools. His w'ork was strong and lasting. He was a useful man in the new country. They were a stout family and industrious workers. The mother and daughters spun, wove, colored and made all the material they wore. The father, mother and Isaac died a mile west of Fairmount. George, Rebecca and Martha died in Kansas. Aaron and IMary died in Iowa.

The land joining the Rich farm on the east was taken by Iredell Rush, in 183 1. He and his wife, Elizabeth, were also from the old North State. They had a family of eight children born to them in the new country, namely, John, Calvin, Nixon, Jr., Thomas, Jane, Milicent, Anna and Mary. Iredell was an energetic farmer and was forging ahead rapidly when he was taken violently sick and died, in the prime of life, leaving a widow with a large family. She nobly cared for themi and lived to see all of them married but two, Thomas and Jane, who died unmarried. After many years of widowhood, the mother married Thomas Jay, a minister of the Society of Friends, where she had held an honorable position as elder for many years. They were a mutual help to each other, and passed down the shady side of life happily together, and now await the trumpet's call.

In 1836 came William Osborn and wife, Keziah, and took up the land that Mary Rich now lives on, directly north of Dugan Rush. William's wife was a sister of Thomas Harvey, Sr., and Jesse Harvey, Sr. They brought up a family of six children, namely, Mary, Abigail, Ruth, Lindon, Mahlon and Lydia. They were a very nice family of people, dressed and lived very plain, as most people did in the new country. Mary married Lindsey Baldwin, Abigail married George Shugart, Ruth married Samuel Roberts, Lydia married Milton McHatton, Lindon married Mary Reeder and Mahlon married Arcadia Phillips. I think not one of the family is now living.

Thomas Harvey, Sr., and Anna, his wife, came the same year, with a family of five, four sons and one daii^^hter, namely, Jesse, John, Henry, Thomas and Mary, and took the land directly north of William Osborn and a forty west of the road that Jesse settled on, where Cyrus and Ephraim were born. Thomas Harvey, Sr., was a very industrious, quiet, inoffensive man. He had a large orchard and fruit nursery at an early day, and sold his fruit and young trees over the newer parts of the country. Thomas and his boys were great friends to the colored race, and assisted many on to freedom. The old homestead has passed out from the Harvey name, I think. All of the original family have passed away. A few of the second and third generations yet survive the ravages of time, but are widely scattered.

Directly east of William Osborn's old home lies Exum Newby's one hundred and sixty-acre farm, given him by his father-in-law, Joseph Winslow, in 1829. Here two children were born, Eleazer and Rebecca, when the young mother died, leaving a little babe that was taken by Grandmother Newby, and as years rolled by became the wife of Zimri Richardson. Caroline Newby was the first one of the new colony to be taken away. Her little boy was taken by an uncle and reared until he was of age, when he met with an accident that ended his life. Later on, Exum married Rachel Knight and reared a family of seven children. Exum Newby was a carpenter by trade, and was a No. i workman. He and Thomas Hill, a brother of Aaron Hill, another good workmen, did the carpenter work on the old Friends brick meeting house at Back Creek. Anyone who has seen that work would say that it was a marvel of accuracy. The matching of the flooring, and especially the ceiling, has not been excelled by the late machine work. Many a time I have sat and looked for a bad joint in that ceiling, but found none, and yet it was all worked out and gauged by hand.

The old road that ran diagonally through the Newby farm has long been closed up, and the old frame house, one of the first that was put up on Back Creek, that was wont to resound with the cheerful voices of all the young people of that section, even for miles away, may now be the home of the bat or barn swallow.

The old Back Creek meeting house should never have been torn down, but kept as a lasting monument to the memory of the loyalty and energy of the founder of that church. What a great place that could have been made for recreation and public meetings !

North of the Newby farm, and joining the same, lay the Joseph and Peninah Winslow home, with their son, Henry. Joseph has been quite well written up and I will not detract from what has gone before.

Matthew Winslow (son of Joseph) and his wife, Anna, came with his father and took the land directly east of his father, where he made a farm and prospered. Later, he decided he must have more land for the boys. He sold out and moved to Iowa, where land was cheap. The change did not prove to be a good one. The two elder boys sickened and died, leaving him but one son. The bereavement cast a shadow over the remainder of their days. The old farm is now occupied by John A. Jones and John Devine.

Charles Baldwin (a brother of Daniel Baldwin) and Eunice, his wife, came in 1830 and took land joining the Newby farm on the east. Charles was married twice. By his first wife he had five sons and three daughters, namely, Thomas, Ahira, Lindsey, John and Quincy, Mary, Jane and Rachel. All of them came to the new colony, marrying and making homes near by. Thomas married Harvey Davis's daughter, Ahira married Jane Newby (a sister of Exum Newby). Lindsey married Mary Osborn (a daughter of William and 'Keziah Osborn), Mary married Lancaster Bell, Jane married David Stanfield. Jr., and Rachel married Jesse Dillon and was the mother of the preacher, Josiah Dillon. The younger son, Charley, as we always called him. married Malinda Knight, a daughter of Benjamin Knight, near Marion. Thus we see the two elder Baldwins and Nathan Morris did a Roosevelt's part in populating the new country. Charles Baldwin was rather dignified, but courteous and kind-hearted, kept close to the old style of Friends' plain dress and address, never wearing suspenders, and, I think, but few buttons. He and his wife rode to meeting in a two-wheeled covered gig, the only vehicle of the kind in the country at that date. His last wife was a fleshy woman, a sister of the Pembertons. Some twenty or thirty rods north of the LaRue brick house stood the old Baldwin residence, partly log and partly frame, a few rods east of the public road, and an open lane ran by it down east beyond where the Big Four railroad now crosses the farm. Just over there once stood a cabin that was occupied by Evan Hinshaw and family, then John Baldwin, and later Joseph Baldwin for a brief time. Across the lane from the residence the woodhouse and carriage shed stood, where Carlotta Peacock ended her life.

The field east, south and west of this house contained some eight or ten acres, and was sown to wheat, which was ripe and ready for harvest. At that date wheat had mostly been cut with a sickle or cradle scythe. This field of grain had been put in the shock ready for threshing out. At that period threshing machines were in their development stage and rather crude affairs.

A man by the name of Jesse .Morris, from near Marion, had a machine that was fashioned somewhat on the principle of the latermade ones, not so long in body, but set on four wheels, the two hind wheels being the drivers for the motor power, the whole thing drawn by four or six horses. It was to pass over the field by the shocks, where the pitchers would toss the sheaves to the band-cutter and feeder, who stood on the machine. They had just made a start when it was discovered that the machine was defective. The band that ran the strawcarrier would slip off the pulley every few rods, necessitating the feeder to climb over the top of the machine- to adjust the band. In doing that he went over once too many times and let one foot slip into the cylinder, when one or more teeth hit his foot, tearing it to pieces. It was necessary to take the foot off above the ankle. That was done before the day of anaesthetics. Dr. William Lomax, a young man then, did the operation.

Whew ! Just think of lying down and having a leg taken off without an anaesthetic. I think that machine was not moved out of its tracks for some time. I saw it standing in the field later.

Thomas Hill and Daniel Frazier were among the early arrivals, and located east of Aaron Hill and Matthew Winslow. Frazier's land joined Samuel C. Wilson's farm on the north and Hill's land lay north of Frazier's. It later was occupied by Lindsey Baldwin and family. Baldwin died there and his family are scattered.

Thomas Hill was a brother of Aaron Hill and was a first-class carpenter and joiner. As has been said, he was one of the builders of the old brick church at Back Creek. What became of Thomas Hill and family I do not know.

Daniel Frazier had a wife and farnily of three sons and two daughters that I can recollect, who attended church at the old brick house in an early day. One son and one daughter were grown, two were in their teens and one boy eight or ten years old. This little fellow, in some way I do not now recollect, got lost in the forest. If anything will arouse sympathy and energy in a people it is for a child to get lost in the wilderness. As soon as the word was circulated that the Frazier child was lost, the whole settlement was out looking for him. The clearings around the settlers' cabins were small, then, with a heavy forest all round and wild animals prowling about looking for something to devour. Night came on, with no tidings of the lost boy. The nights were dark. Anxiously, they waited for the light of another day. when they could renew the hunt. A little way north of the cemeter}- grounds and halfway between the creek and public road stood a large, hollow sycamore tree, witli an opening near the ground. When dark came on the lad chanced to come across that tree, and, looking in, saw it was ver\- dark in the hollow, and decided it was so dark that no animal could see him in there. So he went in, laid down, and slept until day, when he was soon sighted by some one on the search for him. At no time was he far from a cabin, but made no noise, and hence was not sooner found. The family emigrated to Iowa and passed out of our knowledge.

Lewis Moorman, who married Sarah Thomas, of Wayne County. Indiana, a sister of the wife of Thomas Baldwin, Sr., came to join the new colony in 1835, and took land a mile east of Charles Baldwin. The land between was very wet. Lewis was a stout-built, heavy man. with a coarse voice, and somewhat eccentric, but made a good, loyal citizen. He had two sons and two daughters. T do not know who now owns the original home place. I think his sons are dead. The daughters moved to the West years ago. The Moormans lived the farthest east of any family of Friends, but were regular in attendance at meetings.

The same year. 1835. came Jabez H. Moore, and took land joining Moorman on the south. Moore was an educated man. and put on a little more style than many others. He always went dressed well when away from home, wearing a tall, silk hat and cravat. He had two sons and two daughters, namely. Isaac, John, Lacy Ann and Martha. Jabez and his wife have been dead some years. One son and one daughter were living in Kokomo a few years ago. Jabez made a good citizen and was active in the organization of the Township and County, rarely ever missing an election.

Directly south of Charles Baldwin, on the east side of the, public road, Lancaster Bell, who married Mary Baldwin, a daughter of Charles Baldwin, took up eighty acres, in 1836. Bell sold, or traded, to Thomas Baldwin. Later, Jesse Dillon bought the place and established a gunmaking shop there, where he and his boys changed all the flintlock guns for miles around into caplocks. The place is now owned, I think, by some of the Winslow family. Lancaster Bell and wife moved to Iowa many years ago. where they died. Jesse Dillon and wife died there.

The eighty acres just east of the Bell place .was taken by Jesse. Sr.. and Lydia Harvey, in 1832. He was a brother of Thomas Harvey and Solomon Parsons' wife. Jesse died early in the '40's. His wife lived there alone for many years and passed from there to the Great Beyond. They were two very quiet, kind-hearted bodies, liked by all who knew them. They left no children.

vey. Sr., and Keziah Osborn. Solomon was a valuable man in the new country, as he was an excellent workman with leather and made a nice boot or shoe. He was a fast workman. They reared a family of five children, namely, Keziah, Elizabeth, William, Anna and Henry. Keziah married Henry Wilson. He died. Later she married Reece Haisley, and they moved to Jewell County, Kansas. Elizabeth married Conner Knight, an Englishman, and lived for some years on what is now the north end of John Peacock's farm. They are both dead, leaving two sons and two daughters. Dr. John C. Knight, of Jonesboro, is one of the family. William married and moved to Iowa many years ago. Anna married Dr. White, a young- physician who practiced in Fairmount a short time in an early day. He emigrated West and we lost track of him. Henry fought for the Union in the Civil War, was badly wounded, but recovered sufficiently to live until a short time ago. He settled in Iowa after the war, reared a family, and was an honored citizen. Parsons sold to John Beck. The writer went to school with all the children many a day.

The land directly east of Parsons, to the prairie, was taken up by Eastern speculators, held for some years, and for this reason was not improved for some time.

In 1835 we find John Lee and wife a mile and a half east of Parsons' south line. The cabin stood a little east of the old Wayne trail, west of the slough. xA.maziah Beeson located a little way across the slough, to the southeast of Lee. John Lee's wife was a sister of Nathan Morris and a twin sister of Solomon Thomas' wife. The Lees and Beesons were members of the Friends church and attended Back Creek meeting. Lee and Thomas emigrated to Iowa, in 1850. Lee died out there.

Beeson remained on his prairie farm and brought up a family tlicre, Beeson and the Lees were related in some way. Amaziah was a chemist, to some extent, and had a small distillery, where he manufactured sassafras and peppermint oil, which he sold at a profit. He built the first brick residence in Fairmount Township, I think, which certainly indicated energy and perseverance. I think he and his wife died on the farm. Charles Beeson was their son.

In 1835 Timothy Kelley settled on the Lake Galatia land. He and his wife, Avis, had five children, namely, Jane, Mary Ann, Alfred, Samuel and Anna. They were from Pennsylvania, I think, members of the Friends Church, and a degree more aristocratic than most of the early settlers. A portion of their land was covered by a cranberry marsh before the country was drained. This was a source of considerable reveno Tlie Making of a Toicnship.

Between the John Lee place and the Kelley farm Otho Selby -ettied, in 1836, on the north side of the prairie, where he reared a family of three children. Otho was an industrious man, uncompromising in principle, and an educator and promoter of the best interests of the country. His children are all living, and retain the old farm, which but fewdescendants of the original pioneer stock can truthfully say.

A half mile southeast, across a branch of the prairie, Henry Winslow, Sr., and Jesse, his son, settled in 1836. They were Friends, and their location was a long way back in the woods, with bad roads, yet they were regular attenders of Back Creek meeting. They were compelled to go on horseback. Aunt Penny made a fine appearance in the saddle. Old Henry, as we always called this one, because there were four of that name - Joseph's Henry, or Big Henry, Ryer's Henry and John's Henry. Old Henry, the father of Thomas, Jesse, John, Henry, Polly Wilson, Elizabeth Powell-Dillon and Susie Crowell, died on the prairie farm. Jesse sold out over there and bought the Elijah Harrold place, where Foster Davis now lives, east of Fairmount. Jesse and his wife, Peninah, were excellent people. T would that we had more like them todav. Their influence will roll on until it reaches the golden shore.

The farm now owned by Nate Wilson was taken in 1835 ^y Charles Hinshaw and wife. Charles was a strong, hard worker and had the only whipsaw in the country. He cut out floor-plank for people. It was a slow, expensive process, and was not resorted to very much. While Hinshaw lived at that place, a son, a young man about seventeen, I think, was drowned in the river north of Jonesboro. a little southeast of Jesse Jay's place, where the road makes a turn to the northwest. He had been, or was on his way, to the Deer Creek mill, had reached that point, and decided to have a bath, not knowing that it was a deep hole of water. He hitched his horse, left his clothes on the river bank and plunged in where the water was deep, but could not swim. Some time later a man was passing, and, seeing the horse tied and clothes lying near by, surmised what was wrong, got help and fished the body out. N'ot long after this, Charles sold out and moved to Iowa. In 1858 I met Charles in Kansas. He was wearing the same hat he wore the first time I ever met him, at Back Creek meeting. He was a Friend. It was a round-crowned, broad-brimmed beaver hat and would last one hundred years.

In 1833, Hopkins Richardson and wife, Elizabeth, with two sons, Jonathan and Zimri, located directly west of Ratliff. Richardson was of medium size, dark skin, black hair, and full of energ)'. He was a great hunter and would find a deer where other people failed. Hopkins gave the most of his land to his two sons. His wife died at the old place and he sold what land he had left, married again, bought a place on top of the Deer Creek bluff, west side, and died there. He was quite a trader for that early day. He would buy a lot of good horses - he was a good judge of horse flesh - take them to Kentucky or Georgia, sell them to the wealthy planters at a good profit, return and invest in more land. Thus he became owner of a fine body of land. His sons are dead. Elmer Buller. I think, holds the old homestead.

Directly west of the Richardson homestead, William Winslow (black Bill, or Uriah's Bill, as he was always called to designate him from the other Bills) took land. He was a brother of Jesse, Thomas and John Winslow. He had quite a family of girls. He sold his land to Richardson and moved to Iowa. The old road ran east and west, near the middle of his place, and near his cabin, some thirty rods west of the public road that passed by Richardson's house, and intersected the road that crossed the creek on the line of Third Street, or what is now Bogue's corner.

Chapter Xi Having To Do With A Wide Variety Of Subjects

MY FATHER, Bernard McDonald, moved to Grant County the fall of 1854. He bought what was known as the Martin Bates (now the John Davis) farm, three hundred and twenty acres, mostly heavy timber. Bates never received a dollar for this farm.

About the year 1849. ^ railroad was projected to run from Cincinnati to Chicago. The land, as surveyed, ran east of Fairmount, through Galatia and Jonesboro. A part of the right-of-way was cut out. Immense piles of crossties and bridge timber were piled up along the rightof-way, were not paid for, and rotted where the material was piled.

A great many farmers subscribed for stock in this railroad and gave their farms in payment for the stock. Not a single subscriber ever received a penny for his farm or stock. The farms were sold to innocent purchasers and there was no recourse for the people who lost their farms. Martin Bates was one of those who lost a good farm. , There were many more.

Bates had planted an orchard of about twelve acres in apples, peaches and pears. This orchard was a great source of profit for my father. There were but few orchards west of us for many miles, and for several years we sold apples at Kokomo, Windfall and Elwood. Those were our nearest railroad towns, west of us, at that time.

The west half of Fairmount Township was settled by Friends, mostly from Xorth Carolina. The east half of the Township was settled by good, sturdy people who were not Quakers.

We had not been in the country long until I became acquainted with Morris (Mallegan) Payne's boys, and they were friends of the Lewis and Leach boys. In that way I met those of my own age.

William G. Lewis was a kind man - generous to a fault. The Osborns, Paynes, Thorns, Harrisons and Fears were all names which I recollect as being early settlers.

oeed. What was once a wilderness is now the finest farming communit\ in the world. The entire Township cannot he excelled in this glorious country.

Has had an interesting career. He was born near Liberty. Union County, Indiana, December 6, 1846. His father, Bernard McDonald, was born in County Carlow, Ireland, August 25, 1812. At the age of eight Bernard McDonald went to sea as a cabin boy on a ship with his uncle. He followed the sea for twenty-five years, when he came to America. T. B. McDonald's mother, Elizabeth McDonald, was the daughter of Samuel Heavenridge, of Rock Bridge County, Virginia. Hs settled at Cincinnati, Ohio, where Mr. McDonald's mother was born in 1824. Samuel Heavenridge was a Quaker of the old school. He was an elder in the church at Fairmount when he died Bernard McDonald moved to Henry County, Indiana, when the son was one year old, and to Grant County in 1854, where the latter spent his boyhood days on a farm. When he left the farm Bent went to Jonesboro and worked in a woollen mill owned by Pemberton & Baldwin.

From there he went to work for Xoah Harris, and assisted in building the first grain elevator at Harrisburg (now Gas City). It was while this elevator was being built that John Evans killed John Brinegar. T. B. was a witness to the killing. This unexpectedly changed his plans for life. He had intended to go to Kansas with John Rush, but was held as a witness to the tragedy, and could not go as he had planned. He then went to work on the Panhandle railroad as a brakeman on a gravel train, then on a local freight train for about ten months, when he went to Nebraska City with Dr. J. N. Converse, who was building the Midland Pacific railroad. He remained there, employed as a conductor, until the road was finished to Lincoln, Nebraska. He was the first conductor to run a train into Lincoln. This was on April 24, 1871. He went to Iowa October 9, 1871, the day of the great Chicago fire. He was employed by the Burlington Railroad as a conductor for ten years. Since that time he has been engaged in farming. merGhandising and banking, and is now President of the Lovilia Exchange Bank. He owns 965 acres of valuable coal lands, contented with his lot, never held a public office, has often been a member of the third house ^ (lobby), has always taken an interest in politics, votes the Republican ticket, believes in prohibition and woman suffrage. He is proud of the fact that he is a native of Indiana and lived in Fairmount Township, "where," as he puts it, "more good people live and have lived than on any other six miles square on earth."

Among the early settlers there was not a single sluggard to be found - - every man a Christian according to his belief. There were Solomon Thomas, the Winslows, Wilsons, Newbys, Harveys, Baldwins, Solo- mon Parsons, the Jays, Peacocks, Joseph Rich, Spencer Reeder, Lindsey Biiller, the Scotts, John Ferree, the Wrights, Harvey Davis, Wil- Ham Cox, David Smithson, Eh and Wihiam Neal, Carter Hasting, David Stanfield, Wihiam Hall, William Pierce, Joseph Hill. Nixon Rush, Phineas Henley, Iredell Rush, ]\Iahlon Harvey, John and William P. Seale, Samuel Radlerand John Bull. Were there ever so many good, solid, well-meaning men in one neighborhood? We think not. It does me good to think of those sturdy men and their wives. God bless them ! They, too, were the equals of their husbands.

Clothing the family was a problem in those days. It was difficult to raise sheep in the heavy timber, and for that reason wool was scarce. The wool was carded by hand and spun into yarn, reeled into skeins, and from the skeins it went to the large roller in the loom. Then the ends of the thread were placed through a reel, when it was ready for the shuttle. Sometimes the chain would be all cotton and the filling all wool.

Remember, the 'work was all done by hand, and a great deal of it by night with but little light, sometimes a tallow dip, sometimes a greas> rag placed in a pan and set on fire.

The first houses were built of logs, some hewed and some round. A big fireplace at one end of the building served for both heat and light, and a place to cook what they had to eat.

The manner of cooking was certainly crude. Those who could, had cranes in their fireplaces. There was a bar of iron fastened at one side of the fireplace, fixed so it would swing out or in as needed. This bar extended almost across the fireplace. Hooks were placed on this bar. on which the kettles would be hung while the food cooked. Then there were covered skillets, in which the baking was done, such as corn bread or wheat bread, as the case might be.

Those skillets were set on the hearth and live coals put on top and around the bottom, and kept there until the food was done. I don't believe the stove was ever made that would cook food to taste as good as those good old-fashioned pots and kettles.

Stoves were few and far between. Everything that the pioneer had in the shape of clothing was made at home. Bed ticks and sheetings were made of linen, so were towels and grain bags.

ble. When the flax had gotten ripe enough it was pulled up by the roots, the seed knocked off, then a nice, clean piece of meadow was selected, the flax spread out and left until the fiber had rotted sufficiently, then the rotted flax was tied up in bundles and placed in a dry place until spring.

When the flax was prepared for the loom first, it was broken, that is the wood part of the stem was separated trom the fiber. An ugly piece of machinery called a flax brake was used to do the work. The machine consisted, first, of five pieces of wood about six feet long and six inches wide. The top edge of those bars was shaven to a sharp edge, then they were matriced into a heavy block of wood. Into those blocks were placed wooden legs about two feet long. Then there was another set of only three bars. These fitted between the first named bars. The top set was hinged at one end. The operator would raise the top set of bars and place the rotted flax on the bottom set of bars. When the top set of bars came down it would break the flax straw so that the woody parts would separate from the fiber. The next thing to be done was to scutch the fiber.

This was done as follows : A board about eight inches wide was shaven to a sharp edge at the top, then fastened to a block. A piece of board It wo feet long and four inches wide was shaven so that both edges were sharp. This was called a scutching knife. A bunch of the fiber would be taken in the hand, laid across the top of the board, and used against and down the side of the board would soon prepare the fiber for the hackle.

This instrument of torture was made by driving a lot of sharp spikes in a solid board. These spikes were driven as close as possible. The tops of the spikes were as sharp as possible.

This machine was about six inches square. The fiber was drawn through those teeth until all the coarse fiber had been separated from the finer fiber.

Then came the spinning of the thread. This was done on w'hat was called the little wheel, which was run by foot power. The thread passed through what was called flyers. The fiber was placed on wdiat was called a distaff. The operator would take a small piece of the fiber in her hand and start it through the flyers, which twisted the thread. The operator regulated the size of the thread by the deft feel of her fingers. Some were more expert than others. When sufficient thread was produced then the weaving was done.

it, and think what toil it required to produce it. Yet it was done cheerfully. It does not seem possible that such wonderful changes could take place in a space of sixty years.

The next step necessary to keep the family of the pioneer in good health was to provide shoes. If he be fortunate enough to have cattle, then one or more would be killed for meat. The hide would be taken to the tanner and made into leather. It took one year to complete the tanning. If the farmer had money enough he would pay the tanner the cost and take all the leather. If not, the tanner would take one half for his labor. Aaron Williams, where Summitville now stands, had the first tanyard that we recollect. There was one, we think, at Fairmount, but we have forgotten who owmed it. However, we do remember Micah Baldwin and Rariden Smith as tanners, because we have driven the old horse in the bark mill many an hour. We also remember being thrown bodily into one of the vats filled with filthy ooze. A school house stood just east of the tanyard and we were going to school there at the time.

After the leather was procured, the itinerant shoemaker came and stayed until the entire family was shod for the winter. However, there were a great many men who made all the shoes for the family. One pair of shoes for each person was about the limit for each year.

The early settler had plenty to eat, such as it was. Game was plentiful. Not many years after the first settlers came wild hogs were numerous, and in the fall of the year those hogs were fat. They lived on mast, as it was called - nuts, such as beechnuts, acorns, hickory nuts, hazel nuts, walnuts. The ground would be literally covered with nuts - and hogs could live all winter on them.

The man who did not have hogs of his own would take his trusty flintlock rifle and soon have sufficient meat to last all winter. There was no excuse for killing more than he needed, as there was no market for cured meat and salt was scarce. Bear in mind, there were only a few persons who had to get their meat as w^e have described.

Wild turkey were plentiful, as were deer, squirrels, pheasants, opossums and raccoons. The pioneer had no difficulty in bringing home game when needed.

Powder and lead were scarce and were never wasted. There were none of the modern guns in use - no percussion caps. Such a thing as a shotgun was never seen, unless it was an old musket that had been used in the War of 1812, or earlier. The guns w^ere fired b}' a sparkmade by a flint striking a piece of steel, which was a part of what was called the pan. A small portion of powder would be i)laced in the ])an.

When the trigger was pulled the hammer, which had a flint fastened in it. would make a spark which would ignite the powder in the pan, and cause the gun to go off. Sometimes the gun would fail to fire. Then it was called a flash in the pan, and it was then that the hunter said uncomplimentary things, especially if he missed getting the nice turkey he had expected to take home with him.

The hunter's outfit consisted of his gun, powder-horn, bullet pouch, bullet moulds, string of patchen, knife, powder measure and a bunch of flax tow.

The first store that we now recollect of being in was kept in Fairmoimt by Henry Harvey. The building, we think, stood where the Citizens State Bank now stands, and his residence about where the News office is now located. This store was a small affair in comparison with the stores now in Fairmount. The principal stock was green coffee, brown sugar, rice, dried herring, salt crackers, a few cut nails, grain pepper, cloves, powder and lead, a few pieces of blue denim, some cotton thread, and possibly two or three pieces of wool cloth suitable for men's pants, three kinds of tobacco (home grown), a twist called dog-leg, and a ])lug black as night. If \ou asked Henry for tobacco, he would say :

There were no canned goods, no cereals such as oatmeal, corn flakes, etc. Xo bottled goods, no olives : in fact, nothing except what T have mentioned above.

Henry Harvey was a good man in every sense of the word. He did just as the merchants of today do. He granted credit to those who never paid him for his goods or appreciated his kindness for extending credit

George Doyle came later on, kept a grocery, and was accused of selling wet goods. We always thought he was guilty for the reason that at that period my father was in the habit of taking a nip of the "Oh, be joyful !" He thought a great deal of iMr. Doyle and usually after calling at Doyle's grocery showed the effects of John Barleycorn. Therefore, we thought that wet goods were sold at Doyle's. We think that no liquor was sold in Fairmount after Doyle left until after i8()8.

We forgot to mention the fact that the first settlers had no oil lamps - only tallow candles, some of which were made in moulds and some were what were termed dips.