Green County, Wisconsin - Chapter 8: Pioneer Reminiscences, 1884 (part 2 of 2)

Mr. Hayward was admitted to the bar in some twelve or fifteen months after, with honor to himself and the profession. Some eight or ten months after, I bought the other half of the law books, and he w^ent to California, and there became, in due time, a millionaire; since he went there, I have not seen him.

Subsequently I was admitted to the bar, whether well-fledged or not. I have had cases when from both evidence and pleadings (proper), I ought to have had judgment for damages, but got none ; and, at other times, it has been the reverse, faithfully proving what a lawyer in Hartford, Conn., once told me when I went to him for counsel: "We lawyers say

In my peregrinations, I at one time found myself in Staffordshire, England ; this was in 1854. I went there mostly at the request of Walter Tait, whose father's family then lived in England. It was thought he might have some money there belonging to him from entailed property. The property was entailed to Walter 'I'ait's oldest son - had Walter been the oldest legitimate son. His mother was married twice to the same man; and after some years from the first marriage when she had presented to her husband some two or three sons and some daughters, there was some talk that another branch of the family might get the entailed property, and they went over to Scotland and were there married again. Walter was the only male heir under that marriage. Now if he could show that the first marriage was not legitimate and thus make the children by the first marriage illegitimate (his father being dead), then he could inherit a fortune. But the law as declared by the highest authority (the Chancellor), said, if parties lived together as man and wife and were so known among their neighbors till one. of them died, they would be considered as lawfully married. An elder brother after his father's death had got the entail cast off, spent the money, and died. Having no further business there, I returned home, bringing with me two crates of crockery, which I sold in Albany, Green county, after keeping out enough to last our life-time, (wife and self) and we are now using it.

It was a bright and sunny morning, with a pure atmosphere, that seemed to bathe all nature with gladness, when I left the "Cream City." " The world all before me," but not " where to choose," as my husband had preceded and located on a quarter section of township 4 north, range 9 east, section 17, (now the town of Brooklyn). The warmth of the day made only light wraps necessary, and as the teamster had placed my baggage in the very bottom of the wagon, under a load of sundry merchandise, such as soap, salt, tea, coffee, etc, I was left without a chance to get at heavier garments. There were no railroads in those days, and it took some days to reach our destination. The next day was ushered in by a "sun burst," and we were in hopes of fine weather, but alas ! for our hopes, the scudding clouds indicated rain, and the blue mist made nature seem in a weeping mood, too soon it poured down, arid my situation perched on a salt barrel, with only an umbrella and a thin shawl as a wrap, was anything but envious. I was literally drenched. Soon the wind changed north and then froze, but when reaching the "Bale Tavern," I was in no need of the many inventions we have now-a-days to make clothes stiff", as mine were thoroughly so, by the process of freezing. I vividly remember my getting down from that barrel, and trying to induce circulation. Young reader, you who can travel in 1884, in your "Cushioned Pullman's," cannot realize the hardships of primitive traveling in 1848.

After resting at the "Bale Tavern" all night, and feeling refreshed, our teamster started the third day with hopes of reaching our goal. We made as much haste as the horses and roads would permit, until within two miles of the now thriving town of Evansville, when one of the horses took sick. We had to dismount, and try to find some place to stay over night. I called at a house. I think the name of the owner was Foster. The lady of the house was at a neighbors, caring for some sick person, and had sent a young girl from there to take care of her children. I slept with that young girl. Next morning I learned from Mrs. Foster that my bed-mate was a squaw of the Mackinaw tribe, and was a clean, pleasant looking brunette. So on we go, through the "grove," as it was then called, with only a few houses and the Methodist church. We pass unheeded - through miles of prairie. We pause at a hut to inquire our way, and are told we are not on the riglit track. We retrace our steps for a mile and a half, when we reach "Father Egglestone's." There we stay for dinner, and make the acquaintance of his wife, a sweet, delicate Utile lady. There, also, we met two men to whom I had given a letter of introduction to my husband while in Milwaukee. lie helped them to locate on a quarter section. Soon we reach the log mansion secured by my husband from a widow, who had buried her husband and was going to Walworth county with her two children - one of w'hom is our present townsman, Mr. Roots.

I well remember knocking at the door, and, "like patience on a monument," standing leaning against the rough portal (as I did not then enter), inquired where Mr. McCoy was. There were three women there; two were wives to those Fee brothers whom I met in Milwaukee. The third was a Mrs. Shell, whose husband had come from Poland with Mr. Root. One of the ladies sat in Ara\)ic fashion, as chairs were minus.

I was told "he was off chopping, and the} did not know where, as they could nol cross the fence lot lest they would gel lost." I asked in what direction. "Oh, he goes by tlie back of the house." So by the back of the house I went, and took a straight line for the next settlement through the marsh, and at length reached a house where the lady was pulling up beets for the winter's use. Her husband sat beside her in the garden, on a chair, as he was in the last stage of consumption, and died in about three weeks afterwards. His name was Carpenter. In answer to my inquiries he told me to turn an angle of his fence and I would come before long to where Mr. McCoy's lot was. I followed his directions, but soon "tired nature" asserted her rights, and I sat down to listen for the sound of an ax. Yes! there it was, as the echo reverberated through the Avoods; soon it ceased, and shortly after I espied a man in the distauoe, whose walk I knew, emerging from a tangled opening, with an ax on his shoulder, dressed in a swallowtailed English broadcloth coat, pants of the same, fancy vest and a silk beaver stove-pipe hat, with seventeen blisters on his hands, his business suit being in our baggage, which I then brought. On reaching our future abode, the teamster deposited the freight, was paid, went his way, and I must here describe the interior. There was a cook-stove, two trunks belonging to the Fee's, and a bedstead in one corner, formed of poplar poles, which had been made by the lady who owned the house, for her husband had been an invalid and died a short time previously. By way of courtesy, the Fee's extemporized pallets "up chamber," and left me tiie bedstead. Our trunks served us for chairs, and a large "chest" which had seen "marine service," was a substitue for a table, rather out of character with the damask linens which sometimes covered it. When he went to Milwaukee to buy lumber for our house he purchased cliairs, table, bedstead and a crib. The hunber was brought out by teams which hauled produce, etc. We lived in the log house the first winter, which needed no modern modes of habitation, I assure you. The great problem of housekeeping was now to be solved, and being a novice in that line, I had to gather information from every one who was within reach. My next neighbor, Mrs. Shell, was very kind on all occasions. Then there was Mrs. Gray, and Mother Stopp, who was verily a " Queen of Cuisine." I thought if others knew how, I could learn also. Here my first lesson in washing linens was rather severe. Not having soft water, we had to "cleanse," and so I in my ignorance put a tripple portion of lye in the hard water. Consequence, fingers stripped of the skin. I never repeated the operation. The winter was severe, but as our wardrobe was ample, we did not suffer. But there were rails to haul and a yoke of oxen were bought, and a Bled manufactured most primitively, -which deserves a designation here. It was of sawed timber, generally done at "Winneshiek sawmill," and having holes bored for four stakes at one (the back) end a chain fastened across, with a few boards on the bottom and one at each side, formed the box. When we "went to meeting" or visiting we threw a quilt over the chain, and thus formed a seat, protected from the wintry blast. I must not let our oxen pass unnoticed. Had I the genius of a Scott or a Dickens, they should be immortalized in histor}'^ or song, beyond a "Marda," or a "Linda," for many times they outstripped in speed the the horses of our neighbor on the road to Exeter meeting. As there were then no "excursions" or "picnics," or "apple parings," we had to depend on the wild grapes, currants, plums, etc., of Sugar river the winter was environed by "bees" of various nature, combining pleasure and profit. There were chopping, sausage, sewing, quilting, and many a kind mother was thus helped along.

"Our neighborhood" then took in a circle of three miles or more, and in sickness every one outdone the next in "helping," and many were the social gatherings enjoyed. One I remember well, held at Amos Kirkpatrick's, where John Dalrymple now resides. The elder ladies met to sew, the men to chop. The day was cold, but the thermometer stood high (had there been one there) under that hospitable roof. The young people staid to "trip the light fantastic toe" until "the wee sma' hours," but we sober matrons left early. After wrapping and being seated in our model sled, I found I had forgotten my furs, so Mr. McCoy returned to the house for them, which he had no sooner done than off went Buck and Bright like an arrow over the "spring run," up the hill, down to the dale, across the creek, dashed along heedless of any oxen lore I possessed, my whoas only accelerated their speed. At length, and in a short time too, they reached the gate. I got out, opened it, then very instinctively they turned around an angle and went straight for a hay stack. I then entered the "cabin," started a fire, put on the tea kettle, had it boiling when my husband came in, almost breathless after a run of two miles. We sometimes went with said oxen to the south corner of the township to meeting. At one time a humorous incident occurred, A man arose to clear a local preacher of the charge of stealing corn. He said he had a line from father, and that the bag, instead of corn, only had a beetle and wedges. Thus "the spice of life" kept ennui at a distance. Every one seemed hopeful, because they were young and had an object to work for. The spring of 1849 came, and with it new work. We had our house to build, which was done by Mr. Lozin, and as we are fond of the antique^ we still reside in it, with some "additions" as the family needs increased. The lumber was hauled from the lakes. That year prices for produce were low; we bought our wheat at twenty-five cents per bushel, our pork at |2.50 dressed, flour |1.50 per hundred-weight, potatoes twenty cents per bushel, corn eighteen cents per sixty pounds shelled, I remember a young man bringing a load of barley to Milwaukee, and after being seven days on the road came home with two cents, as the proceeds of his load. What an argument in favor of railroads!

We had to go five miles for our mail, to the village of Exeter; when oxen were busy on the farm had to walk. Exeter was notable for its mineral then, and also for there being a store, postofiice and tavern. Here we were waited on by the clerk in Mr. Safford's store, who has since made his mark in the county as merchant, banker, etc., and never forgets his early friends.

I think our township was early an advocate of temperance. Once a "raising" was being held in a joint district, and, in the absence of a good meal, a whisky jug was introduced, when the men staggered around as if drunk, with it in their hands, until they broke it and spilled its contents on the ground.

We were indebted to the visits of a colporteur for the books used in our Sunday-school, and as we had no stated ministry, we were from time to time favored with preachers of widely different theological views - sometimes it was a Methodist or a Congregationalist, or a Mormon/ or a Christian, a Universalist, etc. One I remember who still lives, made use of such "highfalutine" phrases that he appeared to belong to the "Partington" school.

Time passed on in its course, town duties loomed up, and though the ladies never had "their say" in the business, yet I think there were many who did their share in the work, for instance, when the "braves" were in town council at dry prairie rendezvous, Mrs. Anderson, wife to Jerry, and his daughter, Mrs. H. Allen, made them many a rich repast, disdaining remuneration, and in latter years, when our "unpleasantness" called for husbands and sons, many resigned them to their Nation's need, one or whom bitterly remarked (who had lost her husband in camp), that she had a notion to erect a hospital for the lame or sick Yankees, and unnaturalized foreigners.

The Flora of the woods in the spring was delightful to the vision. Many a time have I looked in rapture on their varied hues - the anemony, cowslip or shooting star, lupine, and bitter-sweet, woodbine, and so on, were the only sources of aesthetic enjoyment. Combined with the ornithology of the woods, we could study nature in the grandeur of its primitive state, before the rude ax desolated the forests - but tliere was more real, earnest work to do. The fields had to be formed by "breaking," stones dug up, "grubs" taken away and burned, fences made, etc., and then came the harvests rich in grain, but the "one man" had to "cradle," rake and bind, and do all the out-door chores alone, except when he was fortunate to be near a neighbor where he could "change work." Money was scarce - this was no Eldorado. Many had to keep tneir taxes long before, lest they could not find enough at the time. The coarsest garments were worn; at one time a lady asked in a store for to look at "poverty," meaning a kind of material which went by the name of

"hard times." Many of our early pioneers had both energy and brains, and had there been the chances then there are now for making money, they would have been successful - but the distance, to market, and financial depression in 1848 were great drawbacks.

Twenty-five of the men who voted at the first town meeting, held at Nelson Patterson's house, were voters in 1873. Now only ten remain in town, on the farms they first entered from Uncle Sam. Their names are Anson Starkweather, Harvey Starkweather, James Eggleston, Franklin Patterson, William Smyth, Emery and Jonathan Smyth, Willis Hazeltine and James M'Coy - some have retired to towns, and many more are gone the way of all the earth. So time passes.

Uncle Tom Bowen, who lived south of Monroe on the State line one mile north of Oneco, 111,, started with a double team of horses in the month of May, 1842, for Chicago to get his niece, her two children and your humble servant and bring us to my uncle's, Stephen Estee, who lived over two miles east of Oneco. I came up the lakes with my aunt and her two children, Daniel and Abigail Estee, in the beautiful steamboat Great Western. In consequence of a heavy sand bar at the mouth of Chicago river our boat could not come up to the wharf, but remained outside until by the aid of two immense scows, she was unloaded of her goods to such an extent that she passed over the bar and alongside of the wharf about 3 o'clock p. m. All this time I was making good use of my eyes looking at the panorama. Old Fort Dearborn was in a dilapidated state, the palisades were broken down, but the block houses were well preserved. On looking up the river I could see a long line of low wooden buildings on the left hand bank, while on the right hand they were more scattered. I was not quite twentytwo, and as a consequence was unconscious of the flight of time, being very much absorbed in what was going on. Just at this critical juncture I heard my name shouted "Crocker." On looking around I perceived my aunt and her two children being hurried off on the doublequick by a large burly man who proved to be Uncle Tom Bowen. The next morning we were off early; I was seated on the top of dry goods boxes clinging to the ropes that fastened them to the wagon box to keep myself from being precipitated into the sloughy marshes under the wagon wheels. At the end of nine miles we struck hard ground; the horses were covered with mud and water and they panted severely. We were all of us glad to get off the wagon on to the ground and rest up. The journey the rest of the way was delightful. The prairie schooners attracted my attention very much. They were large wagons covered with wliite canvas, filled with pork, bacon, white beans, and lead from the mines, drawn by oxen, from three to five yoke being hitched to a wagon.

Finally, on the 19th of May, we landed at ray uncle's. We shoved the boxes on to the ground and Uncle Tom 'scud' for home. The next Sunday we started on foot for Uncle Tom's (myself and uncle). The first thing that attracted my attention was a carding machine on Richland creek, where subsequently I played Paddy with a wheelbarrow fixing the dam. This carding mill was owned and run by Mr. Rossman and was in sight of Oneco village. Just across from the carding mill and somewhat up stream, lived Grandpa Winchell and family and his son-inlaw George West, who was an own brother to my aunt, Armida Estee, with whom I had come up the lakes. As Winchell and West had been here some time they had quite a start for newbeginners. On passing up the valley to John K. Brewster's house, we met a tame deer with a large red band about his neck. As this was the first deer I had ever seen I was very much interested. On arriving at Brewster's I found as nice a man and woman as ever broke bread - no wonder they were universally popular. Bisil Belknap and wife and family lived in a house quite convenient to the same spring of water. Mr. Belknap afterwards helped me put up a log house just into Dane county. Here I was introduced to Author Smith, who was afterward murdered for his money, just below Monticello in the township of Mount Pleasant. The next house was Uncle Tom Bowen's. I found Aunt Eliza Bowen and family living right up to the handle and in a splendid condition.

Think of this ye boys and girls of to-day. On going out back I beheld a little village of corn cribs filled to their very summits with corn. At this time corn was but ten cents a bushel. Uncle Tom declared very emphatically that he would not take less than twenty-five cents a bushel for that corn and he would be d - d if he would take any more. I think the ensuing winter was called the "hard winter," and people came from far and near to him for corn, hence his place was called "Egypt." When asked why he did not take a dollar a bushel for his corn, he replied he had given his word and sealed it with an oath, that twenty-five cents was all he would take and that he would not peril his soul's salvation by taking more. I could tell a good many anecdotes of Uncle Tom, but one more must suffice. One day he had snapped his rifle three times at a deer before it run; Tom came to the house in high dudgeon. Sitting down before his fire-place he commenced warming the lock (it was a pill lock) and snapping it. After a while he sat down in a chair, laying the gun across his lap with the muzzle pointed across the room, and commenced snapping as before. His oldest girl, Ann, was opposite at a chest of clothes. She had pulled out a pillow case, and, just as she let the lid fall back to its place, the gun went off, the ball passing through both legs just above the knees, striking the chest lid in its descent, i)lunged into one corner of tiie chest and made a little mouse nest in its gyrations among the frag- I ments. In an instant Uncle Tom sprang, caught i her in his arms, laid her on the bed, straddled a horse and shot like an carrow for the doctor. Dr. Bankston after a thorough examination of the wounds exclaimed, "Bowen you could not do that again if you should shoot a thousand times. The ball has not touched a bone nor a cord nor an artery. If the girl had been standing up straight and firm the ball would have made serious work." As it was the wounds healed rapidly.

Sometime in June, 1842, my uncle, Capt. Estee, Author Smith and myself, went "claim hunting," as it was called, up into Dane county. We stopped for dinner at Uncle John Porter's, who lived on the Camp and Collins' place. His daughter, Almida, did the honors of the occasion. After dinner we went into the village. It must be remembered that Old Exeter was a mining town and was filled with bachelors, old and young. They were discussing fast and furious (whisky was cheap in those days), which was the prettiest girl anywhere around. The balance was trembling between Old Durgin's girl and Miss Porter. We three cast our votes for Miss Porter - we would not go back on the girl that got us a good dinner. Miss Porter subsequently married John Ferguson and raised a large family of nice children, and she is so well preserved in form and features that it would be a sin to call her an old woman.

On our way back to Oneco, we crossed Liitle Sugar river where Gillette's cheese factory now stands, and bearing southwest, crossing over high ridges. About noon we came to a man shingling a log house, on the top of a ridge. It proved to be Uncle Sylvester Hills. He said he could not let us have dinner, as his family had not moved up yet. He directed us to keep on the top of the ridge until we got to a certain point, when we should turn to the left, go down into a valley, where a young married couple by the name of Bragg, lived. He was very particular to tell us that the maiden name was Noble, and a noble woman she proved to be, and she got dintier for us in forty minutes, baking biscuit, boiling potatoes and making tea. We ate with thankful hearts, paid our hostess in silver, returned many thanks and went our way. On the inside of three years ago, I rode to her house with Mr. Whitoomb, the music teacher. After awhile we sat down to dinner. It was a long extension table well supplied with the solid comforts of life, but above all it was surrounded with rosy cheeked girls and boys, to be a stay, a staff and support to them in their declining years. It so happened that I sat opposite Mrs. Bragg at the table. I says to her, "you have forgotten me." She did not recognize me even then. I recalled the facts to her. She laughed heartily and said the reason why she got dinner so quick, was that she was all alone and that she was as fraid as death of us, and got rid of us as soon as possible. She wanted to know what had become of the other two men. I told her that Smith was murdered, for his money, in less than two years, and that Capt. Estee, of company H, of the Eagle regiment (the 8th), was severely wounded at the assault on Vicksburg, May 22, 1863, and died September following, and I alone was left to tell her.

Coming back to Uncle Hills: He lived to a good old age and was gathered to his fathers. He raised a large family of nice children, having been married twice. One of his boys, a tow-headed youngster, went to school to me when I taught in the early forties in the Amos Sylvester district. Since then this boy has come to man's estate, has married the Hon. R. E. Davis' sister, and both, that is the sister and young Sylvester, are keeping the Nichols House in Albany, Green county, where you can be done up brown for |2 a day. We reached Oneco in due time. Shortly after this, Smith got Mr. Belknap's horse, mounted into the saddle, went to old Mr. Shock's, on Green's Prairie, and finally drifted into Dane county, and made three claims, one for each of us. We loaded up two ox teams and started back immediately. We hired a yoke of cattle of Capt. Leonard Ross and went to breaking on sections 29 and 30, town of Montrose. By the next summer, Estee and Smith had altered ther notions. My uncle settled south of Belleville, in Green county, and Smith went on to section 17, the township of Mount Pleasant.

Author Smith and I were together the most of the time until he moved below Monticello. We cut hay on Sugar river flats twenty days and laid on the soft side of a puncheon floor and ate boiled redhorse tish instead of meat. We bunched our hay with wooden forks and took a yoke of cattle and a wooden sled to haul the hay off' with. One day while engaged at this work old John Armstrong shrieked to us. We run up on a high bank and he showed us a very large white wolf. It was a monster in size, so much so that we thought it was an Indian pony. I have seen him once since. About three years ago Frank Smith and myself saw a white wolf on nearly the same ground - a very large one.

The last of September my father and mother and two brothers came on from the town of Salem, Washington Co., N. Y. My father had not been with Smith more than ten minutes before he found out that his father had been my father's old school teacher in Vermont. As you may suppose our entire family became very much attached to him. Smith boarded with us until he went below Monticello, and made another claim, and just before he was killed he was up to our house for seed potatoes and other things. He was the living embodiment of good health and robustness. He was above the medium height, well-built and heavy limbed, with black hair and eyes and rosy cheeks. He was very retiring and quiet in manner, but warmed up to intimate friends, and even after the lapse of forty years we feel wonderfully stirred when we think of him.

The other day (Monday, April 28, 188-i,) while standing on the ground where he was foully murdered* my breast was torn with conflicting emotions, the warm mist came to my eyes, and I would have restored him to life if possible. But I must hasten to the awful catastrophe which ended his life. Smith had a logcabin built on the north side of his claim, near the river bank. We let him have a spotted dog, the sole companion of his lonely hours, and if that dog could have talked, the murderer could have been found out. After Smith had made a certain amount of improvements, he took a notion to sell out his claim. Accordingly, some time the last of May, 1844, he sold out to Abrani Pratt for $200, in English sovereigns. These sovereigns were put down flatwise in a buckskin pouch until it was filled. This pouch was secreted in a pattern for pants, put into his trunk with other things and locked up, the said trunk being in his log house, this dog being the only one to watch it in Smith's absence. Right here I will say that the public don't know as yet who murdered him, but we sincerely hope that the real murderer can't die until he confesses. A great many men have been suspicioned. *****

After Smith was killed (I have consulted quite a number just recently) he lay about two weeks. After awhile old 'Squire Pierce's boys came across Smith's cattle in the yoke. Those boys were honest enough to kick up a dust about it. The whole country was alarmed and turned out en masse. One of the Pierce boys mounted a horse, alarmed Monroe and went down to Uncle Tom Bowen's. A crowd turned out, George West among others. Some went to dragging the Sugar river, others went hunting in the woods. When Joe Payne and his crowd came from Monroe they went to Smith's breakplow and after diligent search Smith's remains were found down a steep bank in wet ground and in tall grass. Then when his skull was found the horrible truth dawned on them that Smith had been murdered instead of being lost. The story was that he was lost. No one suspicion ed that a peaceable, inoffensive man like Smith would be murdered, but when the crowd went to Smith's cabin and found the trunk

A L-oroner's jury was impaneled to hold an inquest on the remains. Justice of the Peace, Major Downing, chose the following jurors: Robert Whitter, John Ferguson, Gabe Long, Lewis Nixon, old Mr. Foster and Leonard Ross. These two last names >ve are not so certain about. I will now state that Robert Whitter and Gabe Long tied handkercliiefs over their mouths and with the aid of long sticks rolled Smith's remains on a sheet and the whole was put into a box for interment. The skull was taken over to the tavern and also the ax. The jury after a short session at the house of Stedman adjourned over to the tavern, kept by Robert Whitter, in the village of Exeter. I was at this examination myself; it Avas at night. By this time suspicion had pretty well settled on William Boyls. His own testimony under oath confirmed the belief. He was tried down at Monroe, but nothing could be made out and he was set free. Soon after this he left the country. Rumor has it that death bed confessions have been made in Missouri and California, but as to that we don't know. The remains of Smith were interred near to where he was killed and about three years ago he was taken up and re-interred in the cemetery at Monticello.