Pewaukee City (part 2 of 3)

" A man by the name of Quarlls left Connecticut many years ago, emigrated to Virginia when the country was new, and was married to a squaw. His son's son was the father of our heroine ; so that probably her great-grandmother was a squaw. Mrs. Hall, her mistress, was her father's sister, and her own aunt. Caroline cam,e into the hands of this aunt on the death of her father. Caroline was an octoroon, probably. She had a straight nose, thin lips, skin not very dark, and a slender form of medium height. Although quite intelligent, she could not read or write. She was fifteen or sixteen years of age when in Waukesha. Her master was Charles R. Hall, a merchant at St. Louis, who formerly lived in Kentucky. Caroline was probably never badly abused while in bondage, though occasionally whipped in addition to being deprived of her freedom. She was brought up to do fine sewing, embroidery, and probably to wait upon her mistress. She was not allowed to attend church on the Sabbath, but was locked in the house to " scrub paints," as she called it.

"Although her mother was dead, Caroline had a stepfather, who never had been a slave, and who made quite a pet of her. The jewelry she had while here probably came from him, for he was well off, with a good trade, that of a blacksmith.

"Caroline wished to be free. She meditated on the subject for a long time, listened to all the talk about the North for a year or more, and conversed with her stepfather on the subject, though no one suspected her intention. Her mistress became angry at her one day, and cut off her hair, which was long and beautiful. That decided her to run away as soon as possible. She was some time in perfecting her plans. She managed in some way to possess herself of ^100, and when the opportunity came for her to go, threw a bundle of clothes out of the window, after obtaining permission of her mistress to go and see a sick girl of her acquaintance. She kissed the sick girl, bade her good-bye, went back, picked up hei; clothes, and walked down to the ferry. The boat was just ready to start, it being about 5 o'clock P. M. Caroline must have had some experience in traveling, for she went up with unsuspicious naturalness and bought a ticket to Alton, 111., where there was a school for young ladies. She wore a quantity of rich jewelry, stayed on deck in the daytime, with other young ladies, and when there was dancing she danced. She thus excited no suspicion, being no darker skinned than many other of the young ladies who attended the seminary. I suppose she acted a little strange at Alton, for a colored man, who was at the wharf, asked her if she was a slave escaping, and she said "no;" but he watched her, and making up his mind differently, told her if she was, not to stay in Alton. So after staying a day, the darkey put her on the stage for Milwaukee. She rode night and day till she reached that city. As she left the stage at the Milwaukee House, she saw a colored man by the name of Titball, who was a barber, and went to him, supposing th^t he would be a friend to her - a correct conclusion, as he had himself been a slave. He took her to his home, where she remained a week or more. ,

" The first that people in Milwaukee knew about the affair, lawyers came, about a week after her arrival, from her master to take her back. They came upon Titball and asked him if he knew anything about Caroline. He told them that she was at his house. He then managed to send a boy who was working with him, with orders to take Caroline to a certain place. He intended to get some money out of the lawyers, but the boy (who had also been a slave), did not take her to the place designated by Titball.

" The St. Louis lawyer, Spencer, desired to proceed according to law, and therefore consulted H. N. Wells, an Anti-slavery Democrat, who afterward became a Judge. Although Abolitionism had not then entered into politics and Mr. Wells was a Democrat, he would have nothing to do with Spencer and the other St. Louis lawyers, but visited the office of Finch & Lynde, and laughed about the aifair with them, who, being thus set upon the track, hid the girl away in the grubs and brush until night. I am not sure whether Mr. Lynde (the ex- Congressman, William Pitt Lynde), aided his partner, Asahel Finch, or not.

" Spencer not getting help from Wells, went to another lawyer, Jonathan E. Arnold (who had run for Congress on a Whig ticket the year before), who turned right in with them. They then went to Titball, and he took them to his house, but, of course, did not find the girl. The lawyers were afraid they would lose Caroline, and ofiFered the barber $100 to produce her. So he took them to where he supposed she was hidden, but, not finding her, the lawyers thought the darkey was fooling them, and were going to kick him. He convinced them, however, of his honesty of purpose to help them, and saved himself a kicking, which he no doubt richly deserved - but he lost his $100.

" At night, Asahel Finch took her across the river, and the story was she was headed up in a barrel, but it was a sugar hogshead or crockery cask, which stood between the road and sidewalk, between what is now Grand avenue and Kilbourn Town. The cask stood in front of a darkey's one-story house, which was raised up from the ground so that a person could see under it from the street. The house was so small one could look all through it from the sidewalk, the doors standing open, for it was the month of August. The people would slip something to eat under the cask when no one saw them, which enabled Caroline to remain hidden under the cask until night, when she fell into the hands of Samuel Brown, father of the present Mayor of Milwaukee, who then lived on a farm a mile or more from the city, but whose farm is now part of the city. He took her home, and kept her there one night. The next night, he started to Pewaukee with her, in an old rickety wagon, which he was afraid would break down before he reached his destination.

" Just before he struck the main road, Mr. Brown heard voices and stopped till some men on horseback passed. The party proved to be Jonathan E. Arnold, Alexander F. Pratt, the lawyer Spencer, and one or two others. They had been to Prairieville (now Waukesha), ' that Abolition hole,' as it was then called, to find Caroline, having lost track of her in Milwaukee. Mr. Brown's wagon did break down before he reached Pewaukee, arid he placed the saddle, which he had taken the precaution to put in his wagon, on the horse and took the girl on with him. He took her to Father Dougherty's, who lived between two and three miles north of Pewaukee Village, where she was kept concealed two or three weeks.

" In the mean time, the parties who wanted her were searching all over the country, offering rewards for her capture. They made their headquarters at Peter Jones' tavern, the ' Prairieville House,' thinking she must be in Prairieville or near there, it was so strongly impregnated with Abolitionism. They did not leave a stone unturned to find her, keeping watchers out at night on all the bridges and roads leading to the place. A yoiing lady while going to watch with a sick girl (who afterward died), at Rev. 0. F. Curtis', was followed and the house watched to find out if she was not Caroline.

" Two men, who afterward held the highest position in the State (that of Governor), were found employed watching an opportunity to deliver a poor slave girl to her master. They did not watch boldly and openly, but on the sly. One of the wealthy citizens of Prairieville went to a new house just outside the village, pretending to want the plan, but really to see if he could get some trace of Caroline, the $300 reward oflfered for her capture being a great temptation. Although there was so much excitement among the pro-slavery people at this time, who were all stirred up and rushing from one place to another, trying to stir up the people and find Caroline, the Abolitionists were as quiet as might be, seeming to take no interest whatever in the matter, and the pro-slaveryites could gain nothing from them. The St. Louis lawyers and their friends, among whom were several of the prominent citizens of Milwaukee and Prairieville, defied the Abolitionists to keep Caroline away from them, saying the law was being violated by so doing, and vengeance would soon be visited on their heads. But Caroline's friends could not be provoked into any conversation or argument. The hangers-on at the Prairieville House were watching the every movement of every Abolitionist. The gang went to Deacon Mendall's, threatening him with some sort of violence, as he was a stanch anti-slaveryite, and supposed to know something of Caroline's whereabouts. They found him in the field engaged at hilling potatoes. The lawyers demanded to know the Deacon's opinion of his crime of law-breaking ' Why,' replied the Deacon, ' I didn't know as hilling potatoes was breaking the law.' ' You are harboring that slave-girl, which is against the law.'

' No, sir, you don't search my house for any slave, ' said Deacon Mendall sternly, and the crowd, afraid of th^ rifle, marched back to Prairieville. A man over sixty years of age had frightened them away, single-handed.

" By some hook or crook, some one got sight of Caroline at the Doughertys', and brought the news straight to the lawyers. They made a rush one Saturday afternoon to effect the capture. One or two roads turned off" before reaching the house, and this Saturday Caroline sat by the window looking up the road from which she had an unobstructed view of a mile or more. She saw several men on horseback coming in that direction ; as they kept straight on toward the house, she knew they were after her and slipped through the cellar, which was at the back of the house, and out toward a cornfield, to which she crawled on her hands and knees, and hid in the back of it till her pursuers went away. The men went into the house bold enough, and inquired of Mrs. Dougherty if a colored girl was there, and getting no satisfaction from the old lady, asked to search the premises. She consented, and it did not take long to look through the house, which was a large claim shanty ; not much chamber nor cellar. They left very reluctantly, after searching everywhere on the premises, as they supposed. They came to what is now Pewaukee Village, and passing by Elder Wheelock's, A. F. Pratt told them that ' whatever the Elder said would be true. He might not tell all, but what he did say could be depended upon. ' They therefore began to talk with him ; asked him if he knew if there was a slave girl around. He said he had heard there was. They told a plausible story - said they had talked with Deacon Clinton ; that they understood she wanted to go back, and she could go with them if she wanted to. If not, they would give her free papers ; and the Deacon said if that was a fact, and she wanted to go back, it was his duty to give her up if he knew where she was ; thought that was honorable. Then they said to the Elder :

" ' I think I can. I have a great deal of confidence in the Deacon's judgment. I am going down to Prairieville to preach to-morrow, and I'll talk it up with the Deacon. Wait till I get my horse. '

The men thought that very favorable to their prospects, though had they known as much as they found out afterward, they would have come to a different conclusion. As they came into Prairieville, the Elder left them and said he would go up to Deacon Clinton's, who lived on his farm just out of the village, and have a talk with him, and would meet them at night at Jones' tavern (the Prairieville House), by 10 o'clock, with the Deacon. He meant to keep them away from Pewaukee neighborhood as long as possible. He then went to Deacon Clinton's and told them to send a boy for Deacon Mendall. Deacon Mendall came. The Elder told him to take a man with him, get the girl away from Pewaukee, and keep out of the roads as much as possible, for these men might be prowling around, but to lose no time in getting Eer away. The Elder and Deacon Clinton went as agreed to the Prairieville House at 10 o'clock that night, and talked and gassed with the men till about 12 o'clock, and finally came to the conclusion that they would have nothing to do with the matter in any way. Deacon Mendall was a man of whom the people stood in awe. He had been something of a fighting character in younger days, but at this time was a good Christian man and a member of the church. He took a man by the name of Jewett with him, and went to Mr. Dougherty's and brought the girl to Prairieville to Deacon Allen Clinton's (brother to Deacon Edmund Clinton, who also lived on his farm two miles from the village). That Sunday all of Allen Clinton's folks went to church except his wife, who stayed with Caroline. That morning a man came to me at church and tried to tell me about the girl ; but I did not want to hear. 1 told him that the fewer people there were who knew about it the better ; but in the afternoon Daniel Chandler came to me after church and told me to have my team ready that night at a place designated a mile west of the village iii oak openings. I did not dare to take my owji horses out, for I was watched ; but I told him I would be at the place with horses. So I went to Daniel Chandler and said: " 'Mr. Chandler, I want your horses to-night, and I don't want you should ask me a question. ' He let me have his team, a splendid on.e, of which he thought everything. I took the horses after dark, and went to the woods according to promise. After awhile I heard a whistle and answered it. By-and-by I heard it again in another direction, and I answered as before. Deacon Alletf Clinton then made his appearance on horseback, Caroline riding with him. Two or three others came also - Chandler and Deacon Mendall. Caroline was given into my hands. I chose Deacon Mendall as company and we started with Caroline curled down in the straw in the bottom of the wagon for - we had no idea where, but any place of safety. On the way we stopped and got James Rossman to accompany us. I drove down through Mukwonago and toward Spring Prairie, thirty miles from Prairieville. We reached Spring Prairie about daylight, and stopped at Charles Thompson's. He said he would have thrashers that day and it would not be safe to have the girl there, but he took us to another place in the vicinity, where we left her and turned toward home as quickly as possible. On the way home in moving my feet around in the straw, I hit something hard ; on picking it up it proved to be the longest butcher knife I ever saw (Deacon Mendall, in his earlier days, had been a famous butcher.) I says, 'Deacon, what's this ? '

" You can guess what he intended to do if any one had attempted to capture us. We came home by a difierent route from that on which we went, and found everything serene. We had not been missed from Prairiville. Those fellows were satisfied she had left the place, and for two or three days a few friends of us talked of the aiFair, and concluded that though the people the girl was with were stanch Abolitionists, we did not know how good managers they were. The more we talked, the more fearful we were she would be found. Finally, we decided that one of us should go and take the girl through to some station on the underground railroad, and they pitched upon me, being an old bachelor with no family to keep me from going, as the proper one to do the job. At this time, money was not plenty in Prairieville, as every one was paying for his land. I had to start away with very little money. I rode my horse up to Deacon Edmund Clinton's, as I always did when I wanted to get him shod, with a rope halter on, so as not to look suspicious. It was about dark. I told the Deacon I wanted his saddle, bridle, and all the money he had. ' I am going on a skeerup, and I may be obliged to pay the Queen a visit before I get back.' He handed me $5, all the money he had by him. That made $8 with what I had, to start with. I mounted my horse, and started for the oak openings. Went through North Prairie, Eagle, and through to West Troy. Before reaching the last place it began to rain, and it was the darkest night I had ever seen. Lost my way two or three times, and did not reach my destination till 7 or 8 o'clock in the morning. Had scarcely a dry thread on me. 1 had breakfast, baited my horse and dried my clothes till noon. I was startled to find Caroline gone. I was more easy, however, when I found they had moved her Tuesday night to Gardner's Prairie (two miles from Burlington), where she was left ; but they didn't know at whose house. I started for Gardner's Prairie to hunt her up, and on the way stopped at Elder Manning's. He had brothers living at Prairieville, and I knew he was a good Abolitionist. He had not heard there was such a girl as Caroline, and knew nothing about the excitement connected with her case, having been confined to the house by illness. He declared his intention of going with me to the Prairie to find the girl, in spite of the pleadings of his wife, who thought it too great a risk to his health, this being his first day out of bed. The weather had cleared, and we started, the Elder going straight from his bed to his horse. We rode' to Mr. Peffer's, who, knowing the Elder, upon being questioned, said the girl was there. I was acquainted with the brothers Arms, Abolitionists, and went to them. They called in two or three other friends to consult what to do, and, while talking, Dr. Dyer, father of Judge Charles E. Dyer, and still a resident of Racine County, came along. He proved to be the Commander-in-chief - a strong Abolitionist, the greatest and best friend to humanity. We could not keep the Doctor from seeing the girl ; so we all went down to where she was, and held another consultation, when it was decided I should take Mr. Chenery's buggy and harness, and continue the journey to safety and freedom. Dr. Dyer went home and made preparations. He came back with a pillow-case full of cakes, pies and cheese, to be used in case of an emergency. He . inquired into my finances. I told him what I had. He commanded the friends to draw their wallets, and he took up enough to make $20 with what I had. The Doctor gave me a recommendation, the best I ever read, and an appeal to friends of humanity to assist me without question to the extent of my asking. I believe there never was an appeal like that written by mortal man before or since. It would almost stir the heart of a stone.

" While at this place, just before night, who should we see coming up the hill but Arnold and Spencer, still wearily but doggedly pursuing the fugitive girl. Caroline and myself, as well as the balance, were unfortunately out in the yard, and the road was in plain sight, but we were not seen.

" When night came on, we started from Dr. Dyer's, Caroline on the buffalo in the bottom of the buggy, which covered her so no one would know but that I had a sheep or a quarter of Veal.

''Mr. Chenery accompanied us to the house of Mr. Perkins (who has a brother now living - - a great sheep farmer - in Mukwonago). We could - not stop there, as he was to thrash that day ; so he took us to Elder Fitch, of the Christian denomination, who secreted us and our horse and buggy till night, when I started on again. The Elder started with us. It commenced to rain when we were but a few miles away, and, as we could not go through to Dundee as we wanted to, a prairie a few miles from McHenry was crossed, though it was so dark we could not see, on the road to a Christian Methodist named Russell, not an Abolitionist ; but we had to stop somewhere. Mr. Russell was perfectly willing to assist a slave to freedom. If that Was being an Abolitionist, he was one. He never knew before what Abolitionism was. I made him a station-keeper on the underground railroad, which I established along the route.

"In the morning, Elder Fitch went back home, and Russell went with us, through Dundee, to Dr. Root's. That was the first that we traveled by day. He was a double Abolitionist, like Dr. Dyer. His brother was a minister, and he sent for him and several friends, who came to see us while we dried out clothes, which were still wet. Started from there at about 2 o'clock, and went to Naperville, fifteen or twenty miles distant. Did not reach there till after dark. We went to Deacon Fowler's, as the Doctor had told us. There were some young ladies present of about Caroline's size, and they gave her some clothes, her dress having been badly torn. They gave her gloves and a thick vail, and also a small reticule into which to put her jewelry ; so we started from there pretty well stocked. Caroline, being well dressed, after that sat in the seat.

"As I said, we traveled in the daytime now. I fell in with a Mr. Freeman, who directed tne toward the underground railroad. We went through Lockport, a few miles from Joliet, while the people were eating dinner, and of course so occupied that they did not notice us. Drove eight miles, to Deacon Beach's, which was on the original underground railroad. Mr. Beach had gone to a church-meeting, it being Saturday afternoon, and the women were very suspicious, thinking I might be trying to break up the line ; but they gave us dinner and fed my horse. I went to the place at Hickory Grove they designated, and found myself on the right road.

" The next day was Sunday, but I thought we had better travel and get away from Chicago vicinity as soon as possible, as Hickory Grove was only about forty miles southeast of that place. We then made for Beebe's Grove. The people we went to were just starting for church, so we went to Mr. Beebe's. He made us welcome. He was a very intelligent man, and had just returned from Chicago, where he saw an advertisement on the docks, ' $300 reward for a colored girl,' but did not pay much attention to the description, though it was no offered for Caroline. The clerk of the steamboat on which Caroline left St. Louis was visiting all the lake ports to advertise her, for the company would be compelled to pay $800 to her master in case she was not found. This sum they were finally obliged to pay.

" After dinner, we started on our journey, Mr. Beebe accompanying us as far as the schoolhouse, where their meetings were held. Sunday-school was just out. Beebe said they were all Abolitionists at the schoolhouse, and he wanted the people to see Caroline. So we stopped and he told the people her history. Several young ladies, Sunday-school teachers, came out after church to see Caroline and talk with her. Near by stood one of the ' liberty poles,' so called, which are common to Northern villages. Turning toward it, she asked them what it was. They replied properly. ' What is it for ? ' ' To commemorate the birth of liberty in America,' they answered. ' What do you do with it? ' ' Oh, look at it,' was the reply. 'Who may look at it ? ' ' Everybody,' said the girls. 'But you said it was a liberty pole ; can a slave look at it ? How can it commemorate liberty in a country where there are slaves ? Have you repealed the law [the Fugitive Slave Act], and raised this pole to mark the event ? Do those who have their liberty have their names written on the pole or in some book ? If not, how do you know who the pole is for?'

" These and similar searching questions so confused the young ladies that no replies could be made to Caroline, and their Pastor attempted to reply for them but was not fully equal to the occasion. She had thoroughly befuddled her visitors, who were glad enough to call her attention to something besides liberty poles, and their connection with liberty and the Fugitive Slave Act.

" The next night, a terrific storm brought darkness unusually early, and made it impossible to reach the next station. I had been told that, in cases of emergency, the Germans were the next best to Quakers for protection, and we stopped at a big claim shanty occupied by a German and his wife, begging shelter from the roaring storm that was almost upon us. ' We have no bed for you, no fires, no wood, and no candles,' said the German, 'but will do what we can for you.' The horse, which had been half a day without water, was hitched to the fence as quickly as possible, and when we went in Caroline had already gone to bed with the German's wife. He and I slept on the floor, or rather I reposed there, not being able to sleep much on account of my poor horse. As the German had no water, I arose early, hitched up, called Caroline and started on our journey before daylight, and to this day that kind German woman does not know she slept with a colored girl who was fleeing from bondage, nor does her husband.

" From La Porte we traveled three days, I think, wholly among Quakers. The men were all absent from home, attending a Quaker meeting in Ohio. The women refused everywhere to say anything about any underground railroad, though they usually said : ' Thee can have what thee wants.' Their homes were, of course, stations on the road, but, fearing I might be an impostor, they would not let me into any secrets. They would, however, tell me where the next house was to be found at a convenient distance. After leaving the Quaker settlement, I was compelled to stop over night about five miles from Climax Prairie, in Michigan, with a man who did not treat us well. Caroline was given a room in which was an old-fashioned loom.

On this she hung her reticule, in which were her jewels and the few dollars in money I had given her for the future. In the hurry of next morning the reticule was forgotten, and the loss not discovered until we were twenty miles on the journey. The horse was then too tired, ^nd my destination yet too distant to think of turning back, making forty miles more of travel. I determined, therefore, to go on, secure the jewels on my return, and forward them to Caroline. So we pushed on. At Ann Arbor, we were entertained by the editor of the Abolitionist paper published in that place. Before reaching Detroit, we came across a fleshy colored woman, who said she had been a slave, but for some time refused to say where she had been in bondage. Finally, on being shown Caroline's face, she acknowledged being from St. Louis, from which place she and her husband had escaped in a most romantic and miraculous manner. It was soon discovered she and Caroline were old acquaintances.

" I also met a gang of thirty-two escaped slaves, on the underground railroad, near Marshall and Battle Creek. They were led by three stout fellows, who went several miles in advance, engaging work and searching out and marking stations. One of the women weighed over four hundred pounds, and could not walk. She traveled only in the night. As large as this gang was, every one was perfectly safe anywhere in the Quaker settlement. Whatever may. be said against the Quakers by those who do not like them, I must say I never saw or heard of one who was not an Anti-slaveryite. The same may be said of the Germans, except of som6 of them who had become Yankeefied.

" We passed through Detroit at 6 o'clock on Tuesday night - about three weeks from home - while the streets were filled with workmen on their way home. We were not discovered, and arrived safely at Ambler's, who kept the last station this side of the Detroit River, his house being only separated from that stream by a narrow street. He was absent, but we were well cared for, and his wife sent two men - one of whom I had known in the Bast - to take us over the river. To him I paid twelve shillings, the first money I had paid out in the whole journey, which, on account of the circuitous route followed by the underground railroad, had extended over a distance of between five and six hundred miles. After crossing the Detroit River, Caroline began crying, and clutched me by the arm, asking if it was possible that she was being taken back to St. Louis. I talked and explained, but it took some time to clear her mind, that side of the river appearing to her like the country across from St. Louis. I left Caroline with Rev. Haskell, or at his house. He was a missionary at Sandwich, Canada.

" The clerk of the steamboat, whose owners were afterward compelled to pay $800 for transporting Caroline from St. Louis to Alton, was in Detroit when we got there, and had been watching every ferryboat that crossed the river for a fortnight. How long he remained on watch I do not know, but he never found Caroline.

" On the road home, I stopped at the place near Climax Prairie where Caroline left the jewelry. [At this prairie is a junction of the underground railroad from the Ohio River.], The man refused to give up the reticule. His excuse was, that probably Caroline would return for it, and then there would be trouble. I argued every way with him that I could think of, but all to no purpose. He was not only stubborn, but mean and stingy. Finally I asked him if he would take ample security, to which, after an unaccountable amount of squirming, he consented, promising to receive Dr. Thayer's bond for the jewelry and money. The Doctor, who was another Dr. Dyer - a double Abolitionist - lived at Climax Prairie, five miles distant, to whose place I started on foot, my horse being very tired, at 9 o'clock Saturday evening. The Doctor was away attending patients, and I started after him. Not knowing the roads, I got lost, and, after a long delay, reached the place where he had been, just a few moments too late. I then returned to the Doctor's house, reaching it late, or rather early in the morning, where I was wiven a bed for an hour before breakfast, the Doctor being still absent. He returned Sunday, and, when I told him my errand, he spared no invectives or profanity in attempting to satisfactorily express his indignation. He sat down at once and wrote one of the strongest obligations I ever saw, with which I returned for the reticul'e. Even after all my trouble, and after promising to take Dr. Thayer's bond, this meansouled individual delayed a long time before he would give up the valuables. I was terribly exasperated, but talked as coolly and politely as I could until the reticule was recovered, when I gave him as much deserved abuse as I could command, and I wish I could recall his name now, that the world might know what kind of men inscrutable Providence has from time to time permitted to. live in it. I returned to Milwaukee, and to Father Dougherty's, in the town of Pewaukee, in both of which places Caroline had left whatever she possessed. I immediately gathered everything together, and with the money and lewels, forwarded them to her at Sandwich, Canada, through Dr. Porter, at Detroit, who wrote me afterward that they reached their destination.

" On the road home - I was from home five weeks - I was repeatedly bantered, friends inquiring if I did not expect old Tenny [Chief Justice Taney, who afterward delivered the notorious Dred Scott decision,-] would soon have my hide on the collar-beam.

" Caroline had $80 when she reached Milwaukee, which she placed in the hands of Titball, the ex-slave barber, before mentioned, who at first befriended her, and then attempted to sell her to the 8lav6-hunters. When I went to him for it, he said he never had but $40 of Caroline's money, and even this he refused to pay. I sued him and got a judgment, which I called paid when Titball died, about thirty-five years ago. He had his shop in the Milwaukee House, and it was the finest barber-shop in Milwaukee.

" When Caroline was on the road to Canada, she was asked if she could read or write. ' I can't write,' said she, 'but I can read; I know as much as half my letters.' Since then, she seems to have learned the use of a pen, for I received the following, which contained more errors, however, in punctuation and spelling, than here appear :

" ' Dearest Friend: Pen and ink could hardly express my joy when I heard from you once more. I am living and have to work very hard ; but I have never forgotten you nor your kindness. I am still in Sandwich - the same place where you left me. Just as soon as the Postmaster read the name to me - your name - my heart filled with joy and gladness, and I should like to see you once more before I die, to return thanks for your kindness toward me. I would like for you to send me one of the books you were speaking about.

" ' Dearest friend, you don't know how rejoiced I feel since I heard from you. Answer this as soon as you get it, and let me know how you are, and your address.

" After receiving this letter, I sent a series of questions to Caroline, to which she sent me promptly an answer, dated April 23, 1880, at Sandwich, and which is verbatim et literatim, as follows :

" ' Dear Friend : - i received you letter and was glad you was well and doing well it leaves me in not very good health. I did mary a man on Col. princess farm by the name of Watkins but he was considerable elder than i was and had children by his first wife as old as i was but she was sold from her children in slavery and before she got to the end of her journey she killed herself. I learned to read and write in Canada went to school the first year after i came here to Askins i was here nearly three years before i was married. My husbands occupation is a cook i got a pretty good living but by working pretty hard for it, but i am not very happy. I have heard from St. Louis several times since i came by my cousin who served her time out and got free and came here my old Mistress is dead and my Master is married again that is Charles R Hall i knew about me having property left me before i came away perhaps if i had of stayed until i became of age 1 could have got it and perhaps not, there was not but only two of us, i had one sister but she died before i came away. I have forgotten how long i was going from Alton to Milwaukee by stage. Mr. Potts was the minister that my master and his wife went to and they were Presbyterians my husband was once a slave born in richmond Virginia belonged to a man by the name of William watkins after he died he fell heir to a widow in kentucky by the name of Nancy Cleveland and remained there until he eame to Canada. I have six children three boys and three girls three married and three single the youngest is 16 a boy my oldest boy is a farmer and my other boy is in Cincinnati my youngest girl 18 is at home and i am trying to educate her for a school teacher only she has had quite a impediment in her speech they have all very good educations - Mr. Askell is dead he moved away from here the second year after I came here he was not the man as professed to be he had some very dark traits about him my grandfather and father both was born in richmond Virginia then emigrated to St. Louis my father was name Robert Prior Quarlis i was born in St. Louis "on the corner of pine and sixth streets. I got the box out of my masters store room and hid it in a cherry hedge i left on the 4th of July my mistress folks treated me well enough for a slave. Yes i have been whipped yes i had to do the house work for i was kept for that purpose. I told my grandmother that i was going to Canada but i was so young that she did not pay any attention to me nor any the rest of them .

Thus ends the story, every detail of which is known to be true, of the first escape of a slave not only from Waukesha County, but from the Territory of Wisconsin, the closing incident being the receipt of the above letters thirty-seven years after Caroline was hidden in Prairieville, or in its vicinity. Connected with incidents like this, the name of Lyman Goodnow will never be erased from the richest pages of American history.

Pioneek Reminiscences

The old settlers of the county were personally and publicly requested to furnish papers for this chapter, one of the most entertaining and instructive in the book, as it furnishes the truest insight into all the early modes of living, doing business and weaving the social fabric. Some have responded, but many have not, urging that they were too busy, had forgotten the stories of their early lives, or were too old to write. The chapter contains a few unimportant errors in dates and names, which, however, will be found referred to correctlj in other portions of the book, especially that portion of A. F. Pratt's which states that Mrs. McMillan was the first woman in the county.

Among the " old settlers " of Waukesha County, I think it safe to record myself and my wife, Mrs. Laura Walton. We started from Genesee County, N. Y., with four children, February 2, 1836, for the " Far West," as it was then called. The journey was begun in the midst of the snows and storms of a very cold winter, and our route took us through a part of Canada, across Michigan, around the lower part of Lake Michigan, through Chicago, then a little village, and on to Milwaukee, arriving there the last of March. We were at the end of the road, so concluded we must be at our destination, at least for_a time. Having four horses to feed, I went out to get some grain, and found oats at $4 a bushel, and poor at that. During the summer, I concluded to go a little farther west of the lake.

At that time, tlere were only paths extending westward from Milwaukee, wide enough for horses in single file. I took my team and started with a party of surveyors and broke the first wagon road through to Waukesha, clearing away such forest trees as were necessary and bridging the streams in a rude way.

In October of that year, I brought my family to Waukesha, and the experience of the first day in their new home was simply a foretaste of many more to follow. Three travelers soon came, wanting to engage board, and thenceforward for some time the little cabin in the center of the prairie was known as the "Lighthouse" and the "Travelers' Home." Our most numerous neighbors were wolves and Pottawatomie Indians. They were very social - in fact, altogether too social.

I was the first Deputy Sheriff appointed for this vicinity. Other whites, in addition to the few already here, soon began to settle around us within the radius of a mile. This had at least one advantage, for, as the settlers had none of the usual Sabbath-day privileges, one devout Christian began imnjediately to observe regular hours of "secret prayer," and on such occasions, all the neighbors within half a mile could plainly hear his every word. The service for the first sermon preached was held in my house, the clergyman officiating being that good Methodist, Father Wheelock. From this time, every denomination met in the same room for service until there was a schoolhouse built. The first Baptist Church was formed there, with eleven members.

Mr. Juneau engaged one room of the house to open the first store. He furnished the goods and a young man named Terrell acted as his agent. Afterward, when the course of travel removed toward the heart of the prairie, the store was removed there, and the room thus left vacant was occupied by Mrs. Emma Griffin, wife of Rev. Mr. Griffin, now living at Pewaukee, to open the first select school.

The register showed the names of fifteen scholars, !).mong whom were the still well-remembered names of Mendall, Love, Jackson and others. When the first district school was organ ized, John M. Wells was the teacher.

The early settlers of Waukesha were patriotic citizens. As early as 1839, they thought they ought to gather together to celebrate their country's independence, and, as no more suitable shelter was found, my new barn was selected. The Declaration of Independence was read by David Jackson, then acting as Postmaster ; an address was delivered by Mr. Rockwood, and dinner provided by Mrs. Walton.

Although suffering some inconveniences and privations at first, we have many things to be thankful for. We have lived forty four years on one place, and the family, consisting of nine children, has seen no death.

No one comes to Waukesha County nowadays without some good reason, and the reasons are so manifold and all good that no one thinks of attaching any importance to knowing what they are. But everything was different forty-three years ago - a period of time covering more than four-sevenths of man's allotted time on earth. Therefore, the people of to-day very frequently ask why the first settlers came to this wilderness ; what were the inducements ; what the prospects. Several circumstances combined to result in my coming West, as is probably the case with all emigrants. To begin with, I was born in old Rutland, Worcester Co., Mass., Feb. 12, 1799 - before the death of the Father of his country - and partook somewhat of the rugged, hardy character of my native section. I possessed a keen desire to do something, to get along in the world - in short, to make money, but had nothing with which to do it. My early education was somewhat neglected, much the same as nature apparently had failed to round and soften the bold hills and barren rocks of Worcester ; but I wanted to do something. I accompanied my parents, Asa and Lydia Warren Goodnow, in 1805, to Potsdam, St. Lawrence Co., N. Y., a county wilder and rougher than the surroundings of my Bay State home. There I first went to a common school - very common, indeed - walking four miles and sitting in a barn at that. I followed farming until 1820, in St. Lawrence County, after leaving school, when I went to Canada and began lumbering, taking along a span of horses. There I made money, and at one time could have bought the land on which the city of Ottawa, the capital Of Canada and seat of the splendid Rideau Hall, now stands, for $600, payments to be made in sums of $100 for six years. Three years later, 100 acres of the site sold for $8,000, and now the place is valued at millions and millions of dollars. After meeting with serious financial reverses, I left Canada and began business in Massachusetts, at Lowell, engaging extensively and successfully in contracting and building. When a lull ensued in the building operations, I began the railroad business, where I was again laid out, financially speaking. My attention was then turned to the West. My brother, E. W., and my sister, Mrs. Allen Clinton, had already settled in what is now Waukesha County, in the southern portion of the town of Pewaukee, and were sending back glowing accounts of the fertility of the soil and the beauty of the country. Having, after thorough inquiry, learned that my kind and style of people were settling in that section, I determined to emigrate to Wisconsin Territory. Before coming on to " Ouisconsin," however, I spent three years and over boating into Buffalo, N. Y. In September, 1837, I shipped on the schooner Toledo, the largest one on the lakes, and arrived at Milwaukee in October, after a terribly stormy passage. I gazed curiously at the few white brick buildings then in "Milwacky," thinking, of course, from their color, that they were temporary structures of unbaked brick, as the raw brick in the East were of a similar clayey color. It was some time before that erroneous idea was gotten out of my head. After spending one night there, I started on foot for Prairieville (now Waukesha), stopping for dinner with Robert Curran, whose log house was the first in the town of Brookfield, and who is now a respected resident of the village of Waukesha. About the middle of the afternoon of the second Friday in October, I came upon Henry Bowron, now a resident of Delafield, and others, building the old Prairieville House, of logs, a little northeast of the present court house. I asked them to direct me to Prairieville. "Why," said they, "you are right on the main street." I was surprised enough, for there was no street worth mentioning, and the place was a jungle of hazel-bush, oak underbrush and poplar saplings. This jungle extended all over the present site of the business portion of the village - where stand the American House, bank. Exchange Hotel and all business blocks - down to the river, where Alonzo R. Cutler had a " claim shanty," of logs, called the "mill claim." Morris D. Cutler also had a "claim shanty," of logs, where his present residence, in the midst of a beautiful park, is located. B. S. McMillan's log house, which was the first tavern, so-called, stood near where the jail now stands, and was occupied by David Jackson, who was Postmaster. Solomon Juneau had an Indian store where the Catholic Church How is, Alonzo Cutler having donated a lot to him as a consideration for opening it ; the store Was not kept by Mr. Juneau, but by his brother-in-law, a half-breed, I think. Nathaniel Walton had a log house where he now resides, on the street leading to the Industrial School. The Olin brothers had a log house a little northeast of the present village. Robert Love had a good log house near the Bethesda Spring, and was building a frame addition to it when I arrived. Richard and Isaac Smart had claim shanties south of the present village, and Ethan Owen had a log house on the west side of the river, near the present dam ; and farther north, was another claim shanty, afterward occupied by Maj. Pratt. On the hill, in the edge of the present town of Pewaukee, was a very large double log house, built for a tavern, though never used as such. This Owen's daughter ferried travelers across the Fox River, and in Robert Love's house, religious services were held, until the log schoolhouse was built, and in it, I think, the first church organization was formed. I nearly forgot Joel E. Bidwell, who had a log house near Spencer's Spring, on the hill west of the river, and the log house built by Edmund Clinton, farther west from Bidwell's, and occupied by three families. It was a small h6use, and with the families of Deacon Edmund D. Clinton, George A. Hine, Deacon Allen Clinton, my brother and myself, made a nestful, and no mistake. But it was all right and pleasant in those days, and everything went off in good shape.

The next day after arriving, I took a rifle and started to locate some land. No one knew of a claim to be made, but everybody had claims to sell. I could have "jumped " one almost anywhere, as nearly everybody had taken more than the law allowed. My first work was shaving the old-fashioned, long Ohio shingles for Edmund D. Clinton, from a black-oak cut on " Cutler's opening." While I was "butting" this log for the saw, I heard the surveyors coming. They run- their line across the log and passed on to what is now Walton's coruer, about eighty rods from the Fountain House, where they turned and passed down to the river at a point a few rods above the Hygiea Spring. This party was surveying the first road in the town of Waukesha. It was run out from Milwaukee, four rods wide, and was intended to be laid out to Madison. It was never a prominent road, however, being too roundabout, and never was laid out beyond Waukesha.

In the fall of 1837, I helped to build the first schoolhouse in what is now Waukesha County, under the hill on the west side of the river, about east of Thomas Spencer's tower, and a famous building it afterward became. No other building in the county ever witnessed such earnest meetings, such lively debates, or such astonishing temperance and anti-slavery eloquence from men in the common walks of life - men without the slightest training in the arts of oratory.

I also helped to build the first bridge over the Fox River, and with my brother, Edward W., and brother-in-law, Allen Clinton, built the first frame house in the county. It now is the home of Austin Waite. Both were built in 1837, I believe.

I opened the first stone-quarry in the county, having rented the land of M. D. Cutler, and also built the first limekiln, burning the first lime off'ered for sale. But there was no profit in either. People had little or no money then, but I wanted to see the place growing and prosperous, so never refused any one stone, lime or sand. Scores of them never paid their debts till they paid them by death, and the grim messenger has not yet come to settle some of my old accounts, which have been drawing interest from thirty-five to forty years.

But for all that, I dwell upon the memory of those early days with lingering pleasure and affection. We had no politics and few distractions. We were all friends - all willing to help one another. The petty jealousies that mar the peace of to-day found no place among us then. There was no aristocracy - one was as good as another, if he behaved as well, and no different thoughts were entertained. We were very radical, however, in our views of right and wrong, and made those views felt. A large class held tenaciously to the most rigid temperance reform and anti-slavery doctrines, and carried them into nearly all business, political, social and church relations. We opposed bad men everywhere ; supported all fugitive slaves who came to us, and worked like beavers for the right. All this told upon those who at first opposed us, having come from localities where different ideas had always prevailed, and at last nearly all were arrayed upon one side, making Waukesha the most famous headquarters for the radicals in Wisconsin, as it was the strongest and furtherest advanced.

Waukesha has now settled down to more quiet, humdrum ways, except the bustle of selling mineral water and caring for our summer guests - all our battles but one having been won, and the fruits, rich and abundant, gathered and stored. That one is the conflict between liquor and abstinence, and I have lived long enough to see the former taking a more advanced position in the fight than it occupied forty years ago, as well as to see this such a rich, prosperous and beautiful country as not one of us in those early days ever expected could be made of it. I can be pardoned for wishing that I might take a look at the valley of the Fox River in 1980.

After taking a rest - for a man in his eighty-second year needs to rest pretty often - I have been thinking over the above. I feel like adding a little more, though it will not join on right beautifully. , My father, Asa Goodnow, was born in old Stow, Middlesex. He was the third of five brothers. He had eight sisters ; all had large families, and all lived to old age. Their mother's name was' Knight, from England ; she lived to be ninety-eight years of age. Our name Goodnow probably sprung from the name of a Russian count. My mother's name was Warren, daughter of Thaddeus Warren. You look at the record of the Mayflower and you will find the same name. She died of consumption, as did also two sisters and a brother, who died in Bombay, East India, as missionaries. I was sixteen years of age when mother died. She had three brothers who lived to be over eighty years of age and one ninety-six years of age; four sisters lived to be eighty and one ninety-four years of age. Her father and mother were eighty-four and eighty-eight ; both were buried in one grave, dying only twelve hours apart, Gen. Hastings Warren, of Middlebury, Vt., was my mother's brother,tand also John Warren who built the first cotton-factory in Vermont.

After landing in Milwaukee in 1837, I paid 3 cents the next morning to cross the Milwaukee River, and started for Prairieville on foot and alone. Took the woods above Kilbourntown, came out to Wauwatosa and found Hart's mill had just began sawing. I found numerous claims secured by patches of turnips, as the claim law required something to be raised. The road was through a heavily tinlbered country till I passed Poplar Creek, where I came to oak openings. I liked the looks of the country better, but did not like the grubs and hazel brush. I traveled on, expecting every minute to find a prairie. I soon came in sight of a small prairie and soon arrived at Prairieville. I crossed the Fox River in a canoe just above where the dam now is. Started west through the openings to Allen Clinton's, my brother-in-law. Reached the bluffs north of the river and began to think Prairieville was worth something. I came to a log house, not more than 18x20 feet, with three families living in it and had boarders. The two Clintons had large families. I turned in and helped E. D. Clinton build another log house, and then helped to build the old log schoolhouse and a log bridge. I took a job to cut and split 5,000 rails and draw them onto the prairie at $30 per 1,000. I bought a yoke of oxen. In the spring, I helped on a dam for a saw-mill built by Clinton & Hine. Then I dug on the race that now carries the grist-mill. John Gale, Jr., built it. In August, a man by the name of

Perry and I bought a prairie team - five yoke of oxen. We went and broke up sixty acres of land for Ben Jenkins, of Jenkinsville, Genesee. It was the same team that broke up the Hodgson farm, owned by Mr. Payne.

All the politics I found here was Kilbourn and Sweet. Kilbourn for the Rock River Canal, and Sweet opposing it. Excitement ran high sometimes.

At the land sale, I bought a piece of land joining some that Allen Clinton bought of William T. Bidwell. After the land sale, I helped Allen Clinton build a neat log house on his place. That winter, he and I borrowed rails enough of Uncle Sam to fence his farm. I never worked harder in my life than I did that winter. I cut for him to drive the two teams. As his farm was a little farther away and up hill, we thought we'd fence his land first while it was good sledding, which took us into March. I got one load of rail stuff for myself, when a thaw came and took off all the snow. Then, as I could not farm it for want of a fence, I looked about for business. I came down to the village and made an arrangement with Mr. Cutler and opened his limestone quarry, and went into the lime and stone business. I built a limekiln - the second built in Waukesha County, Deacon Mendall having built the first, which was a small, inferior one. When mine was built, it ran his out. I never sold lime for less than 25 cents per bushel, and, two or three years after, there was an opposition limekiln which brought lime down to a shilling per bushel, which did not pay for the wood to burn it. I delivered stone for 50 cents a perch, and sand for 50 cents a load. I delivered sand, stone and lime for the first stone dwelling-house for 76 cents a perch, measured in the wall, with the openings out. I did this to show what the stone would do, and to get people to build ; but it was hard to get them to raise in price on the stone. They'd say they wouldn't build if they couldn't get the materials cheap. When I got the quarry nicely opened, the limekiln built and all ready for business, about the last of June, I entered into partnership with William T. Bidwell, to put up a stone building. He at first wanted to put up a small, one-story building, just large enough for a schoolhouse, as he had been a school-teacher. I said no ; if we build anything, we will build something that will be permanent and salable. We were offered $400 on time to build with. We hired the money of Mr. Nanscawen on time, Cutler giving us the lots to build on. We inclosed the building, and I sold out to my partner, Mr. Bidwell. If it had not been for the early March thaw in 1840, the old Prairieville Academy would never have been built. I was the first Constable elected in Waukesha ; was elected the third time, but only served two and one-half years, as the election changed from fall to spring. I was Road Supervisor of the whole town, excepting a little district set off by Pratt in the southwest corner of town. I was appointed first Collector here. I think the tax only consisted of school taxes, and, in collecting it, I made a great many enemies among people who did not send children to school, who complained they had no benefit from the school. I furnished stone, lime and sand to the village until the year 1846 or 1847, and dug a good many cellars and stoned them. In 1843, there was a good deal of excitement about the slavery question. I was charged by A. F. Pratt and others with running off a slave girl to Canada. On account of the fugitive-slave law, I would not own it nor have much to say to them or anybody else ; but did say to Abolition friends that I was down to Canada on business and saw her across the river in Canada. But since that law was abolished, I can talk about it.

I was married in 1844. About this time my. health failed. Lifting in the quarry brought on a kidney complaint, and we then knew nothing of the value of the mineral springs, and I had to give up hard work. In the spring of 1848, 1 moved up to Oraro, Winnebago County, with my family, thinking that I could make something claiming Government land, which I did. I made a claim and stayed on it two or three months, then sold it and cleared agood yoke of oxen. I was watching to take advantage of the pending treaty with the Menomonee Indians, which took place the 18th of October or November. I moved my family the next day onto a claim I had looked out before, it being timber and heavy openings. I was the first family on the Menomonee lands, and my third child the first white child born on those lands. I stayed on my claim about two years. My health grew worse, and finally there came a Mr. Arnold from Wauwatosa to whom I sold my claim for $600. I moved back to Waukesha (the name was changed in 1846 or 1847) late in the fall of 1850, and they were just finishing the old railroad depot, preparatory to having a railroad run through the place, which they accomplished the next spring (1851). My health was so poor for twelve or thirteen years that I could scarcely do anything. I have had my " ups " and " downs ;" have been pretty well off several times, but circumstances change so that I cannot boast of having too much at present, though I have lived in Waukesha long enough to have become the richest man in it. Had I known of the virtues of our mineral water thirty-four years ago, I should have been in different circumstances.

Early in February, 1838, my father left Ohio, where he had been an unsuccessful merchant, for the West. Having purchased six yokes of oxen, as nearly matched as possible, each with bright buttons on his horns, and, having found a tall, raw-boned Yankee who could gee ! whoa ! haw ! sonorously, and could cover his six yokes with his tremendous gad, he fitted out two long wagons with covers, filled them with such supplies as he had in store and as' he knew would be needed in a new country, and driving the horses himself, started his caravan. It was a caravan indeed, and created as much excitement as any menagerie of the present day, as he halted in the middle of Superior street, Cleveland, for the admiring crowds to make an examination. He reached Town 7, Range 18, now Delafield, after a journey of four or five weeks; made his claim and built his log cabin, in time to put in quite a crop that spring, doing his own cooking for himself and men, as all the female members of the family remained for navigation to open. We, the portion of the family left behind, landed in Milwaukee on the evening of the 14th of June, 1838, after a journey of eight days, by steam, from Cleveland (one can go half around the world in that time now). Our first impressions of Milwaukee were not very favorable, as the hilarity of song-singing and story-telling, with its usual accompaniments, kept up till a very late hour, was unusual to us. But the next morning was bright and beautiful, and all gloomy forebodings were dispelled on seeing a young man approaching the hotel with his hands filled with wild fiowers. Some were such as we had cultivated with the greatest care in the East ; others, again, we had never seen, but all were indicative of something more than the roughness of border-life generally. A message was sent to my father, and, three days afterward, we started for our home in the woods. When about ten miles out, we stopped for dinner, and, dismounting from our high perch on the lumber-wagon, filled with luggage, my sister entered a famous eating-house (quite as much so then as the Plankinton is now), where she found the good lady of the house preparing dinner before a huge fireplace. The dinner, consisting of the traditional fried pork and potatoes and saleratus biscuit, with a cup of tea, and the table set in the overheated room, was a sorry damper to her spirits, and she came out to the wagon, with the tears streaming down her face, exclaiming : "Father ! have we got to live in such a house ? " - a hard question for one of his sensitive spirit. But I, who was still chatting with him, laughingly asked if she expected to dwell in " marble halls " in the wilderness. She knew very little of log houses, though she " came to " afterward.

Among the many curious things of pioneer housekeeping, one of our neighbors used to renew her floor every week by turning the boards over, as each one made an individual cradle of itself. By so doing, and putting her carpet over them, the floor was soon brought into shape again.

After dinner, we proceeded on our way again through the heavy timber. The road not being cut through, it seemed as if we had to wind twice around every other tree till we reached Poplar Creek, about sixteen miles from Milwaukee, when we came upon the oak openings ; but, . to describe the beautiful scenes surpasses my pen. They had the appearance of a large park, the verdure being very dense, filled with most lovely flowers, which stood as high as the horses' knees, while the trees were about the size and appeared to be about as near like each other as the very old orchards at the East. Invariably we found ourselves looking about for the house belonging to these beautiful grounds; but it was emphatically " God's country," without sight or sound of human habitation, from the house where we dined till we reached our home in the woods, thirty miles from Milwaukee. Such a house of spare rooms ! entirely spare of furniture for four weeks, for we were waiting for it to come by sailing vessel. We managed to sit on trunks and benches, and sleep on prairie hay. Fortunately, by mistake, we had brought a trunk of bed-linen instead of clothing, and it being summer-time, our shawls made good blankets. My father's bachelor's-hall furniture consisted of a good cooking-stove and its belongings ; six white bowls for tea and coffee ; six white plates, such as are used for baking pies ; and, for an extra plate for bread, a clean chip was substituted, and for butter, a like chip, covered with foolscap paper bent to hold it, was used, and so on. We thought ourselves quite comfortable, even with these inconveniences. People scarcely know with how little they can get along until compelled to ; but it teaches ingenuity, as " necessity is the mother of invention." All this time, we were having company, scarcely ever taking a meal entirely alone, as people prospecting through the country always sought the habitations, if there were any.

The business of the day usually began with a general hunt for the cattle, as they strayed off for feed, and, it being the breaking season, to find them was imperative. And a genuine breaking seuson it was, for it seemed as often as every three days the plow or some of its belongings broke down, and we had to go ten miles to a blacksmith. On one of thesBjtrips, myself and sister made our first visit to Prairieville, spending the day at Deacon Love's, near where the State Reform School now stands.

There was at that time no road, except such as each one made for himself, which was an easy thing to do, only avoiding the miry ground, which was indicated by an absence of the rosin-weed; wherever that grew it was safe to travel. Our home was very pleasantly situated, on the bank of a little stream called Checoopenon, whose waters were clear and beautiful, and plentiful withal. Father had drawn the trees, which had been felled in the clearing, and turned their tops toward the house, thu3 forming a beautiful hedge, also a protection from wind and sun. To make it very romantic, we sometimes had most delightful serenades from behind this beautiful screen, having two gentlemen friends who played the flute very finely. Notwithstanding all that was done for our pleasure, many were the tears we shed. The summer wore on. Mr. Hosmer married and brought his wife within a mile of us ; and Mr. Edgerton went East in the fall and brought a wife to his home, three miles west. Mr. Flusky and family were one mile east, and Mr. Dousman spent most of the winter at his farm, three miles southwest of us. This little neighborhood at that time was known as Genesee, and its inhabitants were all originally from New York State, except Mr. Dousman. We soon became acquainted and very sociable, so that during the winter we managed to meet two or three times a week, at one house or the other, to spend the evening. We made three miles and longer journeys with oxen, because they were more easily cared for after reaching home, and they trotted off nearly as briskly as horses.

For a long time our nearest post-ofiice was Milwaukee ; but nearly every week some one had occasion to go to town, and generally brought the mail for the whole neighborhood. We then thought it a great privilege to get our mail once a week ; but now we feel greatly abused without at least a mail once or twice a day, or oftener.

All those old-time inconveniences taught us to appreciate friends, and I used to feel it my bounden duty to call upon all who came within ten miles of me, if I heard of their coming. The social status of the country warrants me in assuring you that, in the course of three or four years, we could assemble a goodly company of as high culture as you could wish to find anywhere. East or West, and in that early time all who were here were cultivated people.

As to the religious condition of the people, we were told by one elderly lady that the religion of the East didn't bear transportation ; that they considered themselves quite pious at home ; but here she hardly knew when Sunday came except by hearing a gun go off a little more frequently, and all the boys wanting clean shirts. In 1840, the Episcopal clergyman of Milwaukee, the Eev. Mr. Hull, used to come out and preach in the different houses in the neighborhood and at Oconomowoc, and in 1842 the Revs. Breck, Adams and Hobart com- menced their mission at Nashotah. They circulated through the country, preaching to all deluded souls who needed their ministrations, enduring privations and hardships almost equal to those of the martyrs of old.

The first picnic in the town occurred on the 29th of June, 1839. The second day after my marriage, Mrs. Edgerton invited the wedding guests to join her in a picnic, and to spend the evening at her house afterward. We went about four miles south of where we now live, on buckboards, through the woods without roads, fording the streams, the gentlemen with their rifles shooting pigeons, and the ladies picking strawberries, till we found a beautiful spot near a spring, where we spread our cloth. Toasts were drank, speeches made, and guns were fired and a good time had generally. This anniversary was observed for some years afterward. One of the first Fourth of July celebrations was a picnic at Nashotah. Mr. Breck invited all to whom he ministered, and the difierent congregations assembled from far and near and had a glorious time.

To show that in those days all social formalities were ignored, one of our neighbors had business at Prairieville, and having only oxen as a means of locomotion, was .obliged to be gone some days. The wife must go with him or be left alone. Accordingly the wife and child occupied the front of the wagon, the family of pigs the back part, and the cow was tied behind - for it would not do to leave anything alone - and so they went visiting. But ourselves were not exempt from contretemps. One day in the fall, my father and his men had been all day carrying potatoes into the cellar, to reach which the whole length of the sitting-room had to be traversed, and of course no little dirt was brought with them. Just before finishing, a carriage drove up with a bridal party from Milwaukee, on their way to Nashotah to be married. They were so late, the night so dark, and the road so diificult to find, my father would not permit them to attempt the drive, but jumped on his horse and rode the distance of seven miles for Mr. Breck to come there and perform the ceremony. It was rather a poser to make the room in order for a high-toned wedding under the circumstances, but nimble feet and ready hands soon brought order out of chaos. I can fully appreciate the fact now, and could then, that the odor of freshly gathered potatoes was not quite as agreeable as the perfume of the flowers that adorn such occasions at the present time. However, those are all dearly remembered experiences, and I would not strike them from the pages of the past if I could.

I started with team by land from Cortland Village, N. Y., accompanied by Asa A. Flint, his mother and sisters, and, without change of team, reached Oak Creek, Wis., July 9, 1837, after a journey of six weeks. Mr. Flint remained at Oak Creek while I started for my destination. I struck a camp of 300 Indians on the east side of Big Muskego Lake, and marched on the regular trail right through the camp. When at the outlet of Little Muskego Lake, I inquired of a lone settler named Parker for Isaac Flint or N. K. Smith. Mr. Parker- told me to keep the trail, which I did, reaching N. K. Smith's in safety. A. A. Flint soon followed with his family, which was the fourth family in the town of Vernon, N. K. Smith, Joel Day and Gains Munger preceeding him with their families. Alvah Plumb soon followed with his family, but all other settlers in the town were bachelors. H. Vail got our first Sunday dinner by carrying a pan of flour one-half mile to a creek to wet and mix it, and, when baked with bacon, made a well-relished dinner. Mr. Vail settled on the farm now owned by Amos GofF. The happiest days of my life were those when I could take enough "grub " to last a week, and with my ax go into the woods rail-splitting, sleeping on logs at night, lulled by the howling of the wolves. My first crop of corn, oats, wheat and potatoes was raised in 1838. I buried the potatoes in the ground, as it was impossible to sell or give them away, although the seed had cost an outrageously high price only the spring before. Mr. Smith being a great bee-hunter, he and I captured forty swarms of bees in the fall of 1839, selling the honey in Milwaukee for $60, and with my share of the proceeds, together with my summer's wages at $10 per month, paid for my claim. Mr. Vail left his crop in the fall of 1839 and went to Indiana, but never returned.

having died there ; and his corn, stored in the loft of my house, was all carried away by the rats, mice and squirrels. During a portion of 1837, Leonard Martin and I kept "old bach" in his cabin. That winter, I split rails to fence the farms of Leonard Martin, Almon Osborn and L. Whipple. Eight here I want it distinctly understood that I did not give up to " Old Abe " or any other man in splitting rails or other hard work. I chopped and split 150 every day ; where the timber was chopped, I split 300 per day. In eight days I split 3,000 rails for Gaius Munger. The first day I traveled thirteen miles and split 339. I received 50 cents per 100. Leonard Martin and I were then making our home at N. K. Smith's. In those days there was an abundance of wild fruit, such as raspberries, blackberries, strawberries, plums, crab-apples, etc., which grew in open places in the woods. On Sundays, Mrs. Smith would send us for berries for pies, and then, to pay for this work, she would send us a pie once in awhile, which we would cut into four pieces. Each ate a piece for supper and left two pieces for breakfast, Mr. Martin would say, "N'ow, Al, take j^our choice, but don't take the largest piece." We had to go to Milwaukee for our provisions, which were nearly all shipped from Buffalo. It took three days to make the trip to Milwaukee with two yokes of cattle to draw two barrels of flour ; and at night we had to sleep under our wagons. We paid $16 per barrel for flour and $82 for pork. In 1839, I worked for N. K. Smith. When we had cut all of his grain but five acres, Mr. Munger wanted his cradle, which we had borrowed. Mr. Smith says to me : " Al, for your stint to-day, you may cut that wheat and take the cradle home." After breakfast, Mr. Smith helped me to grind the scythe, and I went to my work, which I had finished«at 3 o'clock ; then, shouldering the cradle, carried it to Mr. Munger's, seven miles distant, arriving there before sunset ; then went back to Mr. Flint's, which was three miles more. That would be a good day's work for the soft-soldered youngsters of to-day.

The wolves, deer, wild cat and lynx were plenty at that time. In the fall of 1839, Mr. Smith and I caught eleven prairie wolves in a trap. The same fall, we went to a neighbor's to raise a barn, and on our way home we were followed by two gray wolves to the Fox River, a distance of three miles. Many a night I have been followed home by the wolves. The way I knew was by their tracks which I found the next morning in the light fall of snow, even on the doorstep and along the trail. I never was startled by them. They sometimes killed calves and yearlings, but seldom attacked man. They would go in droves and surround a deer, then set up a terrible pow-wow, frightening the poor animal so it could not stir, and then they would kill it. I found one which they had killed in Mr. Martin's wheatfield, but it had been dead too long to be fit for eating.

When I first came to Waukesha County, Leonard Martin, Lazarus Whipple, Nelson K. Smith, A. A. Flint and Isaac Flint, each got a yoke of oxen, and we went to breaking ; it required from four to six yokes of oxen to break the ground. We commenced the 1st of May, and finished about the 4th of July. I helped break, fence and improve their places before I could do much on mine, for I had to earn money to pay for it. We had no pastures fenced, and had to turn the oxen out at night to go where they pleased, and then get up the next morning at 4 o'clock, and start out in search of them, through the brush, woods and dew. After searching for five minutes, we would be as wet from head to foot as a drowned rat. It would take from 9 to 12 o'clock to get the teams together and ready for the plow, after which we would get our " grub," and go to our work. As we were keeping "bach," we could not spend time to cook, or wash dishes through the day, so we would cook each night enough to last through the day. We ate our meals and turned our plates over, so the mice should not muss them, until we could get time to wash them, which would sometimes not be in four or five days. Many a time I have gone to bed without my supper, because I was so tired I could not cook it. In the fall of 1838, Mr. Ellis and I commenced to dig a well, for there was no living water on our claim, and we had to carry water one and one-half miles. After digging down twenty feet, we came to a hardpan, which was nearly as hard as a rock. We worked at it for eight days, working until 6 o'clock at night, after which, each day, we had to go seven miles and back to a place called Wedge's Mill, to a blacksmith named Hugh Mclntyre, to get our pick-axes sharpened, for which we paid 50 cents. We could not stand this, so Mr. Ellis left for Indiana, and that waa the last I ever saw of him. I held on to that claim of a quarter-section, and bought it at the land sale ; ten days after, I sold it to Asher Stillwell for $500. I was then bound to have a farm with living water on it. I then went to New York State, and, in the sprint I came back and bought 160 acres of land, a yoke of oxen, two cows and calves, built a house^nd broke seven acres of land. I was married August 12, 1840, and went to living on my own account. The fall of 1840, I sowed five acres of winter wheat, which yielded forty bushels per acre. I sold wheat in Milwaukee as soon as there was a market established in that place. We raised winter wheat, and without any failures, for ten years ; but soon after it became unsafe to sow winter wheat, for it was winter-killed ; then we began raising spring wheat. Now, 1880. winter wheat seems to be a safe crop again. I hardly know just where to leave off. I will stop right here, without looking further for a stopping place. Those who read this in print cannot see how difficult it is for my stiffened old hands to write as much as I have ; and, if they had been compelled to begin the foundations of the present rich, beautiful and prosperous county of Waukesha, in which one house incloses more comforts and luxuries than all its inhabitants owned in those early days, their bones would be stiff too ; their sentences angular, and their grammar questionable. However, in looking over the fields of the past, I can see many large patches of roses, and long, long paths rich with the sweetest pleasures.

As soon as it was known that we were moved out in the country, men kept coming, so that our little log house was always full. The four weeks that the three families of us lived all together in one house, our floor was strewn with men (those who came to look for land and make claims) every night but one, and that night we felt rather lonely. There was only one room that we could use, for the upper floor was only laid half-way over, and no stairs to go above. So we had to crowd ourselves, fourteen of us, into one end of the room, which was partitioned off between the beds with quilts, to make room in the other end for company. Some of them brought their own provisions and we prepared it for them, and some of them boarded with us; but they all had to lie on the floor, as we had no bedsteads besides what we used ourselves, and those were home-made, and roughly made at that. As much crowded as we were, we were only too glad to divide our small room, and accommodate, as well as it was possible in our poor way, for we wanted neighbors as well as they wanted homes ; and, if we were somewhat selfish, we had a desire to be kind and neighborly.

There was such a body of snow on the ground that there was good sleighing nearly half of the month of March, which made it very convenient for our men to get hay and grain and such things as they had to have, for they had to go to Milwaukee for everything needed, except wood and water. They made hay and stacked it the previous summer, when they went to make their claims, hoping to have an abundance in the spring. Knowing that the Indians were in the habit of setting fire to burn over prairies, to make clear their hunting-grounds from grass and herbage, they thought best to set fire themselves and burn around their stacks ; but they had the misfortune to lose all of their hay, seven large stacks, by the shifting of the wind. So they had to buy hay in Milwaukee and draw it home, seventeen miles, to the place that has been known for many years as the town of Lisbon. The last time they went to town while the sleighing lasted was the last week in March. The snow was wasting fast ; but as they were wanting more corn, they thought they must fetch it before the snow was gone.

As they were very busy with other work, our neighbor, who lived in the house with us; took a yoke of oxen and sled and went alone after the corn. He was not much used to driving a team, and my husband told him that he would go as far as the Menomonee River the next day, to meet him and help him if he needed help. Fearing the ice might not be safe to cross with a load, he started the next morning in good time, so as to be sure to meet him at the river ; but when he got there he could see nothing of the team, so he walked along three or four miles farther before he met him. Then he took the ox whip himself and hurried the team along as fast as possible, for he saw that there were cracks in the ice when he crossed the river, and water above the ice, half-way to his boot-tops; and when they got back there the water was deeper and the cracks in the ice wider. Mr. Rolph, our neighbor that had been after the corn, did not know what to do ; but my husband told him that they must carry the corn across on their shoulders, a bag at a time, and they carried it across in that way, then took the sled and drew that across by hand, and then unyoked the oxen and drove one over atone ; then they went back for the other, and when they had driven him about half-way over, the ice broke and the ox fell into the river all over but his head. They caught hold of his horns and tried to pull him out, but could not, and the current of water drew him under the ice. They then cut away the ice with an ax, hoping that he might rise so they could help him out. But he did not, and when they found that he was still going under they threw themselves down on the ice, in the, water, and caught the ox by the tail and pulled him back, until he could get his head above the water. Then he could help himself some, and, with their help, he scrambled up on the ice and got over on the other side, with his mate. He came near being drowned, and the men, trying to save his life, came very near drowning themselves. Every thread of their clothing was as wet as water could make it.

There they were, as much as nine miles from home, or from any house, and they were about tired out, and it was almost night. It was growing cold and beginning to freeze, but they loaded their corn again and drove on until they came within a mile and a half of the Fox River. By that time, it was getting too dark to drive much farther, and their clothing was frozen, and there appeared to be no alternative. But they must stop there for the night and perhaps freeze to death before morning. They cut some dry wood and made a large fire, for they had matches which did not happen to get wet in the box. They stood by the fire and kept from freezing ; but after a while, Mr. Rolph felt so tired and sleepy that he would lie down and go to sleep. My husband did not dare to, for he thought that if he did they would both freeze to death. So he kept stirring around and kept up a large fire, disturbed Mr. Rolph every few minutes, trying to wake him for fear that he would freeze to death. After awhile he succeeded in arousing him so that he got up and stirred himself about and kept awake, and when daylight came they started for home. But when they came to the Fox River, and crossed, and were going up the bank, their load of corn slipped from the sled and all went into the water, and they were obliged to wade in and get it, carry it out a bag at a time, and load it again, making their garments dripping wet as they were the day before, and in that plight had to drive home, where they arrived about eight o'clock, tired, cold and hungry, or at least faint and about sick. When they had taken a warm bath and put on dry garments, and had taken some warm food and coiFee, and had lain in bed a few hours, they felt better, got up and went to work. They built a scaffold of the boards which they had sawed by hand, and spread the corn on there, taking it out in the morning and into the house at night, until it was dry. They concluded they had earned the corn, with their troubles, besides the two dollars and a half a bushel they paid for it.

As for fruit, it was but little that we used in those days, except wild plums and crab- apples, and to make them palatable and fit for use took as much sugar and a little more than we were really able to buy. We had to study and learn economy, and we found it as economical to buy dried fruit, and sugar to sweeten it, as to use wild fruit that we could get plenty of in the season without buying. Our men had been hoping to be able to raise some corn, oats, buckwheat and potatoes, but alas ! their expectations failed, and by the time they were ready to commence breaking the ground, their oxen were nearly all of them taken sick, and were not able to work, until it was too late to plow and sow and expect a crop of anything. Then it began to look as if we must see hard times ; for we should have everything to buy for another year. How we should be able to buy what we should need, we did not know, for our money was nearly gone. Our neighbors were very kind as a general thing, and willing to accommodate each other by lending. We all found it convenient and necessary to borrow at times, and if we had not been kind and neighborly to each other, we should have fared harder than we did. We have had a barrel of flour brought in sometimes, and have lent it all out in one day, except what we used for baking. We never suflFered on account of it, for if it did not all come back before we needed it, we would borrow of some one else. Sometimes when we had a barrel brought in, we have had to pay out the half of it, where we had borrowed, and just the same with other things.