Macon County, Missouri - Chapter 3, 1910

Tue Ixpraxs - Lasr Barrie Wira THE Warres - 'Cuir Pumpxkins'' - Rerreat OF THE Warres - A Rear Guaro AcrroN - A Seconp Expr- DITION PLannep - Inpians Driven Back - A BURIED TREASURE - SANGUINARY BATTLE BETWEEN THE Foxes AND THE Sacs - Searcu FOR THE TREASURE - STONE ToMAHAWKS AND ARROWHEADS ON Bar- TLEFIELD - THE Inprans' Fish Trap - PIONEER WATER MiLis - CorN as Lega TENDER - DEATH or AntHony Hammock, Heap Mitter - Tue Mitt on East Fork - YULE-TIDE iN A New Country.

When North Missouri was being settled the Indians were an important factor to be considered. The land was cheap and valuable if a man could work it unmolested. Some of the tribes seemed to have been but a little better than outlaw gangs. Others were peaceable and did not go on the war-path unless provoked. None of them, however, ever proved to be very good neighbors. Even those who were peaceable were troublesome in various ways and could not be depended upon. In the early days it was made a misdemeanor to trade with an Indian and there is a record on the Macon County Court docket for the December term, 1840, where James Glen was tried on an indictment charging that he had traded with an Indian, and was acquitted. A. Clark was the judge.

The last battle between the whites and the red men oceurred in July, 1829. Robert Myers, who lived in what became Macon county, rode down to Mr. Blackwell's house, in Howard county, and informed him that the Indians were on the war-path up north; were killing stock and threatening the lives of all the settlers on the Chariton river. Myers, brother of Robert, sent word to his father to raise some men and rush to the scene. James Myers, Nathan Richards, Isaac Gross, Stephen Gross and Ruben Myrtle beat the bush and managed to raise a company of twenty-five for the start. This company inereased as it advanced to the north. The first night out the camp elected Fields rammel as captain and William Guess first lieutenant. On the 16th the pioneers were up with the dawn and reached the threatened settlement atnight. "Then a council was held. The Indians had left the neighborhood. The question debated was whether to pursue them or let them alone. It was voted to prosecute the campaign and drive the hostiles out of the country. The pioneers decided there would never be any peace while the red men were within easy reach of the settlement.

Bright and early on the morning of the 17th the flint-lock musketeers were out on the trail of the Indians. After a ten-mile march they came to the red men's camp. The Indians seemed to be tremendously excited, riding about in apparent disorder. Captain Trammel courageously rode up and called for an interpreter. Two Indians, one known as 'Chief Pumpkins," approached and shook hands with the Captain. The Captain asked what tribe they belonged to. The Indian said they were from Iowa. John Myers called upon the Indians to lay down their guns. This order was given because the tribesmen, about fifty strong, were loading and priming their weapons. The squaws started to seream and run for the woods. In his account of the affair Mr. Blaekwell said he heard the report of a gun, when he instantly sprang for his horse and held him by the bridle.

By this time rifles were popping viciously from all sides. An Indian leveled a gun at Mr. Blackwell, who quiekly shouldered his own weapon and pulled the trigger, but the gun failed to go off, a common failing of the early day weapon. He dodged about and tried another shot, but again the flint failed to strike fire. The Indian seemed to have been having pretty much the same luck with his gun, as a ball did not reach Mr. Blackwell. By that the whites began retreating and Mr. Blackwell followed, leading his horse, glaneing back now and then to see what the enemy was doing. James Myers eame along wounded, and Mr. Blackwell assisted him to the horse and then direeted him to ride after the whites and to rally them; he tried to impress it on Myers that the whites could whip the Indians if they would only make a stand. James Myers shouted back that the Indians had killed his father. Mr. Blaekwell said he thought Myers must be mistaken, but just at that instant four guns cracked right close to him and a mare on which Winn and Myrtle were mounted was shot and fell. There was tremendous eonfusion; nobody seemed to know what to do. Mr. Blackwell did his best to rally his comrades to put up a bold front, but it seemed

- that they had become panic-stricken by the fiereeness of the Indians' attack and nothing could stop them. Winn cried out: "Boys, I am gone!" The retreat continued, with Mr. Blackwell bringing up the rear. The Indians did not attempt a very serious pursuit. Blackwell reached the white settlement, where he found John Myers and John Asbell, both of whom were wounded, Myers with a ball and Asbell with a flint-pointed arrow. Captain Trammel was also wounded, and several other members of the company. As the little band retreated from the settlement they took the women and children with them back into Howard county. They were very much chagrined over the affair and in a few days another company was organized under Captain Sonce, which immediately marched to the battle-ground. In this second party was Mr. Blaekwell. When they reached the scene of the fight they found Winn dead. The Indians had mutilated his body with fire. They also found Squire. Myers dead where Mr. Blackwell had seen him last. Five shots had entered his body. As they proceeded they found the body of Powell Owenby and also those of two Indians. Next day General Owens came out with a strong force and found another dead Indian, so the result of the battle, as far as the dead were concerned, was pretty near equal. Some of the Indians engaged in the encounter were later on arrested and taken prisoners. They were tried at Huntsville, the county seat of Randolph county. Evidence was taken on both sides, and, aecording to an old history of the affair, it was proven that James Myers had fired the shot whieh brought on the battle and the Indians were released. This was the final trouble between the whites and the Indians in this seetion of Missouri, and everything was quiet until the Blaek Hawk war of 1832.

The Foxes were friendly Indians, and received an annuity from the government. In 1832 there was due them a sum of between $12,000 and $15,000, which was to be paid in gold. Three alert, active tribesmen were seleeted as the eustodian of the money, which they received at St. Louis. At that period the Sacs were at war with the Foxes. They were receiving no annuity, but they determined that they were entitled to one as mueh as the Foxes were and that they would eapture the gold for themselves. The Foxes were not hunting a fight; they were simply concerned about reaching their tribe in safety and delivering the money which they brought. They succeeded in doing this, but the Saes surrounded the Foxes with an overwhelming body of warriors, near the old fish trap on the Chariton and the Foxes died like brave soldiers, fighting for their treasure. Before the battle, however, they had seereted their money and the Saes were unable to find it, so their vietory was fruitless.

Many ancient knives and arrow-heads have been found about the old battlefield. Captain John M. London, who resides not far from the place, said that he had seen three Indians hunting about the banks on either side of the fish trap, and that it was supposed they were descendants of the Foxes who had buried their treasure there. They spaded in numerous places, but if they ever discovered anything they kept it to themselves. Soon after this visit of the Indians, white people made diligent search for the buried treasure, and it was reported that some boys had unearthed nearly $1,000 in gold pieces. This created quite a bit of excitement, and every man who owned land in these parts would steal out by himself, as opportunity offered, and try his luck, but no further discoveries were reported.

The old fish trap referred to above was a stone dam constructed by the Indians in the early part of the nineteenth century. It was used in fording the Chariton river. Later on a white man put up a cabin on the bank and constructed a trap in the center of the dam. This trap was used to catch fish for over fifty years, and the owner of it derived a large income from the proceeds of his invention.

The development of the West traveled arm-in-arm with the old water mills as it does today with steam, electricity and the oil motor. The **overshot'" or the ''undershot'' wheel ground corn and wheat, sawed lumber and sharpened the blacksmith's tools. If there were not enough water in the stream to make the wheels go round, the miller sat down until a freshet came from up the country. Impatient customers could not blame him for the delay. It was not his business to furnish the water. So those living near the smaller streams would not start out with their grain until first ascertaining whether or not the creek was "running."

When steam eame into general use most of the old water mills were changed to that power. Then, as the towns sprang up, the trade drifted from the streams to the mills in the towns, and the ancient miller was out of a job. Along all the water courses of Missouri are yet to be seen the remains of these old-time water mills, decayed and tenantless - the architectural corpses of a bygone age.

It was always the dream of the pioneers that their little rivulets would, with proper legislation, become navigable from the mills down to the Missouri or Mississippi rivers. "Then their farm produce would bring five times the normal price in the back country, and their supplies from the cities would not be so expensive and hard to get. The reference to Roderick Shackleford shows how this was made an issue in an early politieal eampaign.

The era of the water mill in Missouri followed close upon the moccasined heels of the retreating Red man. The mills were not very numerous at first, and each one had to serve a wide territory.

Perhaps one of the most noted water mills of Macon county was the one built on the Chariton river, seven miles due west of Bloomington, by Howell Rose in the early thirties. Later this mill passed into the hands of Henderson MeCully, father of W. E. MeCully, former Railroad Commissioner, "Thereafter, MeCully's mill was known far and wide, and perhaps in its day had as great a patronage as any other grinding institution in Missouri.

"I ean remember very well when the old mill was in operation," remarked W. E. McCully. ''It was the event of the year when a farmer went to mill in those days. Some of father's patrons drove down from lowa, one hundred miles or more. At times the offerings were so heavy that a farmer would have to wait two or three weeks for his turn, As soon as a new load arrived, its turn would be indicated by a red keel mark put on the saeks by the miller or his helper. Any dispute about whose turn came next was settled by the head miller. llis word was the law of the river. It was even a part of his duty to referee bouts at fisticuffs and wrestling. The customers, as a rule, did not get impatient; they eame prepared to make a long stay. They would bring with them plenty of provisions and fishing lines. I've seen 'em strung out for three miles up and down the river fishing, and they caught some big ones, too - for the river was full of fish then. As the old burrs would only grind two or three bushels of corn an hour, it was necessary to keep the mill going all day and all night to come anyways near handling the trade. There was a night miller who worked in the illumination of tallow candles. At midnight Saturday the water gate was shut until early Monday morning. The closing of the gate formed a trap for fish, and during the hours when work was suspended the catch this way was sometimes large. The Sunday catch was auctioned off the Saturday before to the highest bidder. If no fish happened to go into the trap, the suecessful bidder had to take his medicine, but generally the catch was worth the price.

"Nothing but shelled corn was handled by the water-mill man. He exacted one-sixth of the grain for grinding. The price was fixed by law. It would have amazed him had somebody offered cash. The miller fed his corn to hogs. That's where his money came from.

**Going to mill in those days was like going to a cireus or a big political rally nowadays. It was the place to swap news and jackknives, engage in horse-shoe throwing, cock-fighting and all the sports of the period. You see, people didn't take sightseeing tours across the country then, and going to mill took the place of that diversion. The patrons were a great, brawny set of American farmers, full of grit and determination, and withal the kindliest folk I have ever seen. With all their eutting-up and yelling, they were never guilty of stealing or imposing on each other; their fights were fair, and they carried no bad blood back home with them. It would be hard to get together now a more truly representative American gathering than those that assembled on the river banks during the water-mill epoch of Missouri."

The location of one well-known old water-mill was determined by a eurious specimen of Indian architeeture. This was a rock bridge the Red men had constructed to eross the river. It was used as a foundation for the dam the white suecessors made for what has long been known as Hammock's Mill. This old mill is yet standing on the Chariton River, in the southwest part of Macon county. Its latter-day distinetion is as a superb place for fishing and camping. Anthony Hammock aequired the property in 1846, when it was a very primitive affair, and completely overhauled it. Its tremendous water-wheel drove machinery whieh made both meal and flour of a high-grade quality. The miller and a companion were drowned in the reservoir July 10, 1869. They were out in a small boat, taking some soundings, when the eraft turned over and both men went down, to rise no more alive. For some time after the widow ran the mill; and then it passed into the hands of William Hammock, brother of the former owner. William Hammock, who is now president of a Salisbury (Mo.) bank and the owner of a thousand-acre farm on the Chariton, conducted the mill until some time in the eighties, when Dave Bundren acquired it and put in steam power.

The water-mill was the pioneer mechanical industry and the pathblazer regarded it almost as great a marvel as the old Washington hand press. Some of the old mills worked so slowly that one would think more might be obtained by pounding the corn with rocks. At one time Mose Taylor (whose mill was on the site of the East Fork reservoir which now supplies Macon with water) was perplexed at the stoppage of the meal, which he had been sacking in the celler. He looked outside and saw the old water-wheel faithfully churning. The machinery upstairs showed it was still attending to the job. He pulled the strap to see if the ""shoe"" had become clogged, but no meal came. "Then he went up to investigate. There was a thief in the grinding room. An enormous turkey gobbler, poised safely on the bur railing, was reaching over and stealing each grain as it passed from the hopper into the "shoe." While his appetite lasted he was putting the mill, with its ponderous wheel, belts, rods and gear, entirely out of commission. The incident furnished material for neighborhood debate for a year: whether the farmer who owned the corn or the miller who was grinding it should suffer the loss for what the burglarious turkey had taken?

The generation of today need shed no tears for the lot of youth anterior to candled Christmas trees, realistie Santa Clauses and melody from great pipe-organs. He wouldn't have known what to do with that sort of a Christmas had it been within his reach. Yet Christmas meant a great deal to him - more than it does to the young of today, perhaps.

Major Thomas Moody, a Macon county citizen since the early forties, tells how young America planned and exeeuted his campaign when the county was in the frontier stage.

**Christmas was a strenuous time with the moccasined boys of the new country," he said. "There were no flaming trees, no dolls for the girls, no silver smoking outfits for the boys; none of the many beautiful and costly things that follow in the wake of Santa Claus now.

"On Christmas eve the boys would gather at some prearranged meeting-place and lay out a route for the night. Every one had a rifle, hunting horn or fiddle. Some would be on horseback; others afoot. All were dressed sufficiently warm to stand an all-night campaign in the wind and snow. The cabins of the settlers were far apart, and in mapping out the line of march it was done with a view of striking as many hospitable homes as possible, and where the larders were best supplied. One of the crowd might remember that Bill Jones, over on the Chariton bottoms, had received a jug of something from Kentucky by way of Hannibal recently. Bill Jones was thereupon added to the pioneer 400 list. Another would suggest that he had seen Mrs. Tompkins and her daughter, Sallie, baking plum pies during the forenoon. The social status of the Tompkins family was immediately elevated to the honor of a eall. And so on. The information thus collected from widely separated sections enabled the leaders to decide on a route that would be literally flowing with milk and honey. As twilight came on the Christmas crusaders set out, scores of hunting dogs in the lead and dodging around on the flanks of the 'army of invasion.' The celebrator worthy of the name was deemed a royal good-fellow in accordance with his capacity to make a noise. Guns cracked, horns tooted, dogs barked and the boys yelled. It was a Christmas carnival, a charivari and a bloodless insurrection all in one. There wasn't a policeman nearer than St. Louis, and the earth and the fullness thereof belonged to the young revelers. They didn't appreciate an easy capitulation when they laid siege to a farm house. They enjoyed it most when the pioneer barrieaded his doors and blew out the eandles. Then they would circle around the habitation, with every instrument of attack in violent eruption. Sometimes the besieged would stuff eotton in their ears and try to stick it out. But as the night wore on and the hubbub increased instead of diminished, the monarch of the cabin would gracefully surrender and unbar the doors. Then the noisy crowd would stomp in and congratulate the host and his family for being 'the right sort." The candles were relighted, big logs thrown on the wide fireplace and the *old woman' and the girls would place pies, cornbread, venison, turkey, wild honey and prairie chicken on the board. Such a layout would be a feast for the gods now, but then it was such provender as every section of old Missouri abounded with. When the table was cleared, the 'old man' would wink at the leader, and the guests would follow him to a corner of the kitchen, where he had sacredly concealed a demijohn of some of the *real thing, just up from Kentuck by last boat."

"What a time there was! The girls in bright homespun garments, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, flitting around in obedience to this or that order of the father and the mother, stealing a second or two now and then to exchange a whispered conversation with some stalwart young pioneer rioter as they passed backward and forward to execute the commissions; everything was laughter and light and happiness. I've been there; I was one of those self-same boys; the God of the lonely frontiersman was over us as well as above the habitations of the kings on those memorable Christmas eves. And we wouldn't have swapped places.

"But the erowd must hurry on, else someone - many miles further through the forest - will be badly disappointed, for you could hardly tender a greater slight to these early settlers than to fail to visit them. at Christmastide.

"After many hand-shakings, and possibly a sly kiss or two on the quiet. the gay erowd moved off amid the blare of horns and the popping of flintlocks. Nobody got tired; the best of humor prevailed and the wild eseapade eontinued through the livelong night, when the round-up began. The eavaliers turned homeward, their ammunition gone, their horns flapping silently in their straps and their voices too hoarse to create a disturbance.

"Sometimes twenty or thirty miles would be covered in a night and as many as a dozen houses visited. It is an excellent testimonial to the earrying capacity of the pioneer youth to say that he rarely suffered any physical discomfort from his frequent appearances at the various banquet boards. He never said *No' to anything put before him. Indeed, it was considered as a direet aspersion on the hostess' ability as a cook to 'pass up' anything tendered. No greater disrespect could be shown. The visitor had to eat, or live afterwards under the suspicion that there was some feeling between him and the family visited.

"Tm glad I lived in those old days," said the white-haired old gentleman, and his eyes flashed with the recollection; ''glad that I've felt in me the tingle of hot young blood as I faced the winter's chilling blasts, and laughed at them. It seems ages ago, but memory is keen as | live the wild scenes over again, and hear the sound of horn, the deep bay of the hounds and the joyful shouts of the young riders. I haven't run across anything down to this year of our Lord that can surpass it."

The Defarges and their fellow-patriots of Saint Antoine had no odder weapons than did a party of young Christmas rough riders, who set out one snowy night across the moors about the Chariton river, on their way to the hospitable cabin home of Settler Moore, just across the divide. There were fowling-pieces of the revolutionary era and disposition, blunderbusses, double-barreled pistols into which you could almost load a walnut, horns galore and a be lrum. When all these things were popping off at the same time the Almighty's provision for hearing was entirely inadequate. Along the route to Moore's lived "Uncle" Phil Everhardt and his good wife. No harm was intended them, but it seems **Uncle Phil," who was a very devout gentleman, had been reading where ''in the last days" there would be mighty sounds in the heavens and queer doings on earth. So when he heard that awful eruption of horns and things across the snow-decked bottoms he made up his mind that the sign had been given. No need to awake the wife and children.

Thus shouted "Uncle Phil" to his family, as he darted out the door, half dressed, and in his bare feet. He never stopped until he reached the home of his father-in-law, where his little family assembled about him, and the doors were safely barred against **Gabriel and his angels.''

There was a solemn council about the camp fire and it was decided that a man of that kind should be taught a lesson. So they built a pen of heavy rails around the door of his eabin, making it higher than the roof. and rolled big logs against it to hold the rails in place. "Then they laid boughs and rocks across the old chimney so it would do all its smoking inside. When all things were thus snug they marched around the pioneer's habitation, entertaining him with enough raeket to bring rain in a time of drought. It was worse than being besieged by the Indians. Finally the victim could stand it no longer, and he run up the white flag. The besieging party showed the absence of malice by eating and drinking everything there was in the cabin citadel, and on Christmas morning the settler had to go out and shoot some game before his wife had anything to eook for breakfast. It was a little rough, but it made him a member in good standing of the '' Pioneer Santa Claus Association."