Cass County, Missouri - Chapter 40: Reminiscences, 1917

I was reared in Fairfax County, Virginia. My early recollections are of the roll of drums, the blare of bugles, the tramp of armies, the rattle of musketry, and the roar of cannon. My father fell in defense of Virginia and the Southern Confederacy. My widowed mother, in 1870, sold the wreck of our property, and emigrated, as soon as practi¬ cable, to Cass County, Missouri, where were located two of her brothers and two of her sisters - Thomas Hutton, Thaddeus S. Hutton, Mrs. William Blincoe, and Mrs. John G. Hutchinson. It was April, 1871, when my mother, sister and brother arrived in Cass County.

Early in December, 1870, when I was not quite seventeen, I landed at Pleasant Hill, then the railroad metropolis of the county and a boom¬ ing business center. We remained over Sunday; I was traveling with my uncle, John G. Hutchinson, who was returning from a business trip to Virginia. When we arrived the ground was not frozen, but the wind was sharp and the mercury was falling. By the next morning every¬ thing was frozen solid, and snow was coming down thick and fast. On Monday, we staged across to Harrisonville, where a stop was made to change horses, and, when the driver cracked his whip over fresh teams and resumed the route to Butler, we began again to lurch and sway over the rough-frozen, snow-covered road. My uncle and I left the stage at Austin and trudged through the unbroken snow in an east by south course to his home, on the west of Sugar Creek.

During the course of that stage ride one of the passengers told a story of the reconstruction period, the mention of which recalls the polit¬ ical atmosphere and temper of the times. In outline - abridged - it ran thus: The Representative in Congress from his district of Indiana was a leading conservative, able, affable, and a wag withal, perpetually tilting and fencing with the opposition. Radicals of the type of Thad Stevens were rampant, working night and day to mount the blacks of the South upon the shoulders of Southern intelligence, and to uphold their dominion by force of federal bayonets. Even the chaplain on his knees was often¬ times carried away by his passion and prejudice; and on one occasion, when he had concluded a specially heated prayer, embodying a fiery and venomous stump speech, "The Gentleman from Indiana" arose to a ques¬ tion of personal privilege, and said it had been whispered about the cor¬ ridors that he did not respond with a hearty "Amen" to the enthusiastic parson's holy hatreds; but that now, once for all, to silence such insin¬ uations, forever, and to show his appreciation and estimation, he moved the House proceed to sing,

At the home of my uncle, John G. Hutchinson, I spent a fortnight, basking before the glowing logs upon the andirons. And there I became familiar with the names of John Woolery, Gabe Woolery, Squire Pulliam, and Philip Fulkerson, all that then remained in that community of the pioneers who patented their lands. Others had died, or had sold their lands and moved on. John Woolery, now at Garden City, and Gabe Woolery, at Eldorado Springs, are all that survive till today, and these two held their lands after all other neighboring patentees were dead and gone. Gabe Wollery was the last one to sell the lands he had settled upon, and John Woolery held his nearly as long. Fulkerson heirs and Pulliam heirs still occupy the farms of their fathers. Time flies, and so the days of my visiting sped by like a dream. Christmas morning dawned clear and cold ; the sun rose sparkling bright and gleamed like fire upon the frosty trees, bending down their limbs under the weight of flocks of unnumbered prairie chickens. An early breakfast finished, we threw the harness upon a team of mules, hitched them to the big wagon, threw in plenty of prairie hay to sit on, and then with blankets and covers enough to defy the cold, we climbed in, bundled up, and rolled away to my uncle's, Thomas Hutton, seven or eight miles to the north northeast.

winding down the woods road; we crossed Sugar Creek at Snyder's ford, and drove northeasterly through the woods till soon we came out upon the prairie, in full view of Dayton, near by. In a few more minutes we had passed through Dayton and, without stopping, turned straight north four and a half miles, up the public road to the home of my uncle, Thomas Hutton, where we sat down to our Christmas dinner.

Although the ground was everywhere covered with snow, and the air brisk and cold, this drive was to me a trip into wonderland. The great flocks of prairie chickens were new to me, and the vision of so much game was alluring to a boy. Rabbits and partridges, I had been used to all of my life, but not to so many, and signs of so many, as were everywhere in evidence. And then a little later, when the spring days drew on, geese and brants and ducks and cranes flew back and forth or lighted down upon the fields, literally covering acres and acres. In the years before, I had seen them fly high, and howk! howk! - but never before had I seen such myriads of them and lighting down upon the ground. Now practically all of them are gone the way of the extermi¬ nated buffalo. But what most of all took my eye was the beautiful lay of the land, and the big fat shocks of corn, and the long cribs of golden ears, and the wide fields thick with rank stalks where the corn had been snapped off. The rush of newcomers were skimming the cream. Very much of the prairie was unfenced. Hay could be cut almost anywhere outside. Few pastures or meadows were enclosed. Cattle, horses and hogs were running at large, through the woods, and ranging over the open prairies. And the houses along the road were pointed out, as we passed on our way, and I was told who lived here and who lived there, and especially where pioneer settlers lived.

Joseph Kimberlin, in 1845, settled the farm now adjacent to Dayton and owned by his second son, Charles A. Kimberlin, ex- judge of our county court, and father of our late county clerk, George Pulliam Kim¬ berlin. Robert, the eldest brother, a farmer, reared a family and is dead. William A., the youngest, is an active officer of the Bank of Garden City, but still holds to his land. The only sister, Katie, was married to John T. West, of Sherman Township, and is dead, leaving a son and two daughters.

Major Ferrell, one mile north of Dayton, did not enter land, but bought land already patented. He was one of the early settlers, how¬ ever, and came long before many who afterward made entry of public lands and received patents therefor. He had three sons, all of whom reared families, and the two elder are deceased. Henry L. Ferrell, the youngest son, married my sister, Julia E., and is the father of John Dade Ferrell, of San Antonio, Texas; Hubert M. Ferrell, of Garden City, and Zola, a daughter, the youngest, just grown, and unmarried. Henry L. Ferrell and William A. Kimberlin founded the firm of Ferrell & Kimberlin, which now is conducted by their sons, Hubert M. Ferrell and Grover C. Kimberlin.

The Dayton I have seen, was builded upon the foundation of the Dayton that was. On January 2, 1862, Jennison's command of Kansas men, on a forage raid, swooped down upon Dayton and robbed and burned the town, only one small house escaping the fire. They went to Kimberlin's and ordered breakfast, and when breakfast was eaten they told Kimberlins to carry out their most valuable belongings, as their house would be immediately burned. The household effects, therefore, were carried out and piled on the snow as rapidly as possible. The torch was applied. Mrs. Kimberlin wrapped up her smallest children and sat down on what had been saved from the doomed house. The Kansas men hitched up Kimberlin's teams and loaded on what part they wanted for themselves, and what they did not want or could not take along, they left for Kimberlins.

Just then old Sammy Hackler came riding along. He was one of the real pioneers of Cass, a typical frontiersman, genial, kindly, open handed, free hearted, and as heedless of business success and the cares of the morrow as Daniel Boone or Rip Van Winkle. He was strictly neutral, too, that is to say, he was loyal among Yanks and secesh among Rebs. He kept his eye constantly on the wise lookout, and adhered strictly to the policy of watchful waiting. So that when he rode up in sight of the kindling blaze of the burning house he did not try to dodge and make a safe getaway, but came boldly forward with his brusque "Good day, gentlemen, a hell of a cold morning." Of course they quizzed him, who he was and what he was, and he was Union, all right, and rode on unmolested.

Messrs. Grosshart, Simpson, and Harry Fulkerson were less fortu¬ nate. They were taken prisoners, marched a mile and a quarter north of Dayton to a point a little northeast of Major Ferrell's residence, and there were shot and killed. Henry L. Ferrell, a boy then, saw the shots fired and saw the dead men lying murdered. Grosshart was one of the pioneers, an eminently estimable man, whose farm was situated about three miles east of Dayton, and was the father of Charles T. Grosshart, of Creighton. Simpson was a man brought prisoner from Bates County. Harry Fulkerson was a relative of Philip Fulkerson, before mentioned. This event was the beginning of a reign of terror, dread, revenge, and retaliation.

Major Ferrell, A. R. Dunham, Huffs and Lenharts, that very day hastily loaded up what they could carry with them and all rendezvoused at Dunham's, one mile north of Ferrell's. There they spent the night in dread and watching, and early next morning began their precipitate flight, leaving behind household goods, provisions, personal belongings, and stock at large upon the prairies, nothing of which was ever recov¬ ered. And other groups, at the same time, were gathering and fleeing in equal panic. To kill all prisoners soon became the law of the border. And now and again, the sod about Dayton was red with the blood of brothers.

Old Sammy Hackler was the one man who didn't run. When both sides were afraid, each side of the other, he was afraid of neither. If any woman was out of wood, or out of water, or out of meal, he went and hauled the wood, or the water, the corn or the meal, or whatever was wanted, and one side or the other side, the known and the unknown, were all alike to him. On one occasion he met a bunch of strange maraud¬ ers from Kansas, who inquired what he was? And of course he told them he was loyal. They inquired if he could prove it, and he answered, "How in hell can I prove it, when I have got no witness here?" Again he passed on unmolested. When peace came, he had plenty of friends, but no money. He borrowed a little now, and a little again, and paid neither interest nor principal. A few more years and Sammy Hackler packed his little belongings in an old wagon and rolled away to other hunting grounds - for he was an enthusiastic hunter - and another tilled the acres of his farm, which lay two miles straight west of Thomas Hutton's place.

William J. Underwood entered half a section of land, lying north of A. R. Dunham's, and cornering with the half section entered by Thomas Hutton. The house Underwood built after the war is standing yet, occupied by one of his daughters, Mrs. Ike Ward, they having bought the place of her father in 1899. He died in 1900, at the age of eightyeight. In England, where he was born, he rode on the first railroad train they ran there, and never rode on a train again, nor ever stepped inside of another car until after the trains were running through Garden City.

Thomas Hutton emigrated from Fairfax County, Virginia, to Mis¬ souri, and entered land in Cass, in 1856, and remained on his land until shortly before the war commenced, when business called him back to Virginia. There he married and remained through the years of the war until the restoration of peace. In the fall of 1865 he returned to Mis¬ souri. and wintered near Boonville, in Cooper County. In the spring of 1866 he returned to Cass County with his wife and three little boys, and again established himself on his farm, where he continued to reside until the evening of his days. In 1870 he was elected circuit clerk of Cass County, at the same time VV. G. McCulloh, of near Dayton, was elected recorder of deeds. In 1885, when the Kansas City, Clinton & Springfield railroad was built through Cass County, and Garden City sprang up half a mile north of his farm, he, with C. Kelly, of Harrisonville, organ¬ ized a partnership bank at Garden City, which later was converted into the incorporated Bank of Garden City. In 1902, when his sons had gone out into various enterprises and he for several years had been alone on the farm with his wife and daughters, he sold his land, quit active busi¬ ness and moved to Garden City, where his widow and daughters still reside. He died in 1905. John Woolery and Gabe Woolery had entered their lands two years earlier than he, and sold out respectively in 1906 and 1908. J. M. C. Bullock, of Index Township, died in 1910. These four held the lands they had entered longer than any other patentees in this part of the county.

Not infrequently we hear wondering inquiries made why it was the first settlers always chose the timber lands along the streams, or chose the lands where timber and prairie join and mingle, even although mar¬ red sometimes by bluffs or by ledges of limestone breaking out in jagged points or rocky patches, instead of selecting the smooth, high prairies beyond. If inquirers would consider for a moment, they could answer their own questions. The streams and woods afforded water, fuel, most, shelter, besides the lesser needs of logs for his house and rails for his fence. His hogs and cattle and horses ran at large. The streams, the woods, the prairies supplied their every need. The chief occupation of the first pioneers was hunting and trapping. They labored to supply their wants abundantly, but not to produce a surplus. They could not become productive agriculturists. There were no railroads nor other means of transportation at hand. It was a long way to boat landings, and service was seldom and irregular. Mills were scarce. There were no markets. And time rolled on.

When railroads began to push this way and steamboats turned their prows up the river and settlers came rushing in and spreading over all the broad prairies, then the first comers had timber lands to sell. Their judgment was vindicated. In 1856 when Thomas Hutton entered the beautiful tract of land half a mile south of where Garden City now stands, it became imperatively necessary for him to buy timber land, and the forty acres of timber he bought, four miles southwest, on Sugar Creek, cost him almost as much as the entry cost of the three hundred and twenty acres of prairie. The same was true of the forty acres bought by Underwood three and a half miles to the southeast, on Lick Branch. And as it was with these, so it was with everybody else and most espe¬ cially so at the time of the great immigration at the close of the war. Timber for fencing was indispensable, and wood was exclusively then used for fuel. The price was relatively high. Iron posts and concrete posts were unheard of. Barbed wire and woven wire were not invented. There was no substitute for timber. The planting of hedges was begun at once on all fenced lands, but a good, strong, safe hedge could not be grown in less than five or six years. But now all of this is reversed. The old rail fences are gone. Hedges are being pulled up by machinery. Coal is the fuel of today, and is shipped into Cass County from the counties of Bates, Henry, Lafayette, and from the states of Kansas, Arkansas, Illinois, Ohio, and Pennsylvania. The price of prairie land has advanced high above the price of woodland; and, indeed, the timber has been largely cut down and sometimes burned, in order to clear the land for the plow. Wire is used for fencing and all of the land is enclosed. The memory of pioneer days is fading dim.

In the breath of a new country, there is a certain inspiration, almost intoxicating with physical joy. After my brother, John H. Terre tt, and I had been in Cass for about ten years, we answered the call of the new northwest. He has remained and prospered in his ventures. I was stricken down of paralysis and returned home to Cass County. And now, for more than thirty years, I have made my home with my brotherin-law and sister, Mr. and Mrs. Henry L. Ferrell, at their residence in Garden City, excepting during the four years I was at Harrisonville, serving as recorder of deeds.